Love or Fear of the Cold
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Fay gets sent undercover and the results may change everything for her.
1. Chapter 1

Title: (Love or) Fear of the Cold

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Written for moogsthewriter, who wanted Fay and Billy undercover. She also provided a beta because she's awesome like that. Remaining mistakes are my own. Title from Mumford and Sons' "Winter Winds."

Warning: This fic includes the beginnings of an attempted sexual assault. It's not graphic and far more emotionally-based than any actual physical act, but I still feel like I should warn for it.

Summary: Fay gets sent undercover and the results may change everything for her.

-o-

Fay is used to standing in Higgins office, taking whatever he decides to dole out. He's not a bad boss necessarily, and she understands the weight of national security that he actually takes very seriously. But it's something to respect that and another thing to endure the turns in his moods and the minutia of his day-to-day routine.

In general, she's mostly figured him out. She knows when he's happy and she knows when he's angry. She knows how to coddle him when he's fickle and knows how to steer clear when he's about to blow.

So the fact that she hasn't seen this coming is disconcerting on many levels. She thinks maybe she should have.

But then she thinks, there's no way she could have.

"But sir," Fay protests in Higgins' office. "I'm not a covert operative."

Higgins sighs; he's weary with this argument and she hasn't even really posed it yet. "I am aware of your position, Ms. Carson."

"So surely there's a better choice," she tries to explain, even if she's aware of the futility.

He looks up at her blandly. "And surely you of all people would know that sometimes the better choice isn't the choice that works," he says. "You have the contacts in Paris, thanks to your extensive time there as an undergraduate student. We need those contacts."

"But, it's been years, and I'm not trained-"

"And thousands of American lives are on the line," Higgins reminds her. "Unless, of course, you prefer a terrorist organization gains a foothold in France in time to move that shipment of uranium you so aptly brought to my attention."

Fay has nothing to counteract that. He's right, of course. The uranium is black market and if it finds its buyer in Paris as slated, there could be catastrophic results for America and the rest of the world. She's the one who put together the file and pitched it to him with all the eagerness and alacrity she could muster.

Higgins puts down his pen and looks at her. "I realize that this isn't normal protocol," he says. "But we're spread thin with the latest round of terrorist activity in Yemen. It's all hands on deck, and normally I wouldn't ask a non-field operative to put herself at risk, but I fail to see any other alternatives that won't risk alienating the French or letting the uranium fall into the wrong hands."

She wants to say no. She wants to offer another option.

She can't.

Higgins picks up his pen again. "The ODS will be your backup," he says. "You're the one always reminding me of their worth in the field."

She chews her lip so hard that it hurts but forces a smile all the same. Because she hates to think how things could get worse if she tempts fate in this regard. "Yes, sir," she says.

He waves a hand. "Briefing will be first thing tomorrow," he says. "I suggest you have your bag packed."

Fay walks out of the office with her head high and her stomach tied in knots.

-o-

She thinks about going to Michael's office, but she doesn't need to. When she gets back to her office, he's there, waiting for her.

This annoys her, of course, because the only reason she wanted to see Michael was to chew him out for being a part of this entire mess. It's not entirely fair, but nothing between her and Michael is ever entirely fair.

He smiles at her, perched on her desk.

She glares.

"Good to see you, too," he says.

She brushes by him coolly on her way to her desk. "You here to gloat?"

Michael frowns. "Why would I be gloating? Your mission got approved-in near record time, I might add," he says.

Rocking back in her seat, she rolls her eyes. "And somehow you managed to weasel your way in," she says.

"Time was imperative," Michael says, but it's noteworthy that he doesn't deny it. Michael's never lied to her-he's always made a point on that-but he's always been selective in his truths. "There were no other teams available."

She knows this to be truth. She knows this because it's her job to know it.

But she also knows Michael. Lips pursed, she inclines her head. "So you had nothing to do with making sure that the ODS was attached to this case?" she asks pointedly.

Michael is good at evasion, but he has his tells. There's a faint blush on his cheeks, and his eyes sparkle just enough to let her know the answer.

She shakes her head. "I'm just surprised that Billy's undercover with me."

Michael's expression turns somewhat serious. "It wasn't my first choice," he admits. "But Billy's good. You need someone for wining and dining-he's your guy."

There may be truth to it, but Fay doesn't want to hear it. Especially not from Michael, especially knowing that he's partly to blame for her being involved in this mess at all. "Is that how you pitched it to Higgins?" she asks coyly. "I mean, was it your idea to bring me along?"

Michael stiffens a little; she's hit a nerve. "I've never wanted you in the field," he says.

"Oh, so I just happened to get recruited for this one," she says. "And it just happens to be to Paris. Where you just happen to want to drag me back to every chance you can."

The humor is entirely gone from Michael's expression now. "Higgins may be a son of a bitch, and he may put reputation ahead of safety more times than I'd like, but he's not an idiot. He knows your file."

She laughs. "Excuse me for doubting," she tells him coolly. "You can't deny that I don't have some cause."

Michael stands up and moves toward the door. "You always have cause," he says. "That still doesn't make you right."

"But it certainly doesn't make me wrong," she says.

"Whatever you may think," Michael continues. "Just know that we'll be there to back you up. Billy's good at what he does and so are the rest of us. Your safety is our priority on this mission."

"Funny, but that sounds like our wedding vows," she says.

"I meant those vows," he replies.

"You still didn't keep them," she tells him.

He wets his lips, brow furrowed. "That's not fair."

Fay shrugs. If she's cruel, it's because she's tired and Michael always knows how to push her buttons. That was the only part of for better or worse that they ever seemed to get right.

She might take pity on him-any other day, she might. But she's been recruited for a mission and the ODS is her backup and she has to trust them with her life when she doesn't even trust them with her heart.

Instead, she shrugs. "Maybe not," she agrees. "But it's true."

Michael looks disheartened, but he doesn't disagree. Doesn't even say anything as he walks out the door and down the hall.

Fay watches as he leaves, waiting for his comeback. It's almost a minute later when she realizes there's none coming, and she forces herself to get back to work.

-o-

She's the first one there for the morning briefing. Given the ODS, she doesn't find that surprising.

When they amble in, they seem particularly smug and she harbors her hatred as she sits stiffly in the chair and does her best to sulk in a professional manner.

Higgins is to the point and the ODS, for once, is primed, helpful, and agreeable. In fact, the briefing goes so smoothly that when it's over, she's more doubtful about this mission than ever.

She stalks to her office, brushing past Michael, who smiles at her, and goes to put the last of her things in order. She's double checking her carry on when there's a knock at the door.

Billy is standing there. He's alone, which is a small blessing, though she has half a mind to turn him away before it all drives her crazy.

"I have a lot to do," she tells him curtly, hoping he gets the hint.

He gets the hint, of course, but he ignores it entirely. Instead, he steps casually inside. "Just thought I'd stop by and make sure that all is well on your end of this little foray."

She levels him with a look that would make lesser men cower. He just keeps smiling. With a sigh, she shakes her head. "There's not much to it," she says. "We fly to Paris, posing as a couple. I hook up with some of my former classmates still in the area who are now running in some questionable circles. We get a few invites, make some connections, and you have your in with the French company that's buying the guise of the uranium trader. We sniff out the route, and you and the ODS thwart the shipment before the transaction takes place."

Billy lifts his eyebrows, clearly impressed. "You make it sound positively perfect the way you say it," he says.

She rolls her eyes. Of all of Michael's partners, Billy has always been the least difficult to get along with. After all, he's generally good mannered and considerate, and even when he's completely messing up her life, he's doing it with a genuine smile that makes her feel like it's somehow not as bad as it is.

Still, he's a spy and a con, and probably the best-and therefore, the worst-among them. The fact that she wants to like him doesn't change the fact that he's impossible to really like because of all the aforementioned reasons.

And of course it doesn't help that he's part of the reason she's not married to Michael anymore. She doesn't blame him directly-no more than she blames Casey or Simms or the entire structure of the CIA-but he's always been part of it. Part of the massive and insurmountable wedge between her and Michael.

With that, it's hard not to resent him just a little.

And yet, it's harder still to deny that he's good at what he does. Because he is. His record with the ODS isn't exactly impeccable, but it's impressive. His methods are off key at times, but that's why he fits in so well with the ODS-where a bunch of misfits found their place and somehow manage to promote national security where others simply can't.

So while she understands that this is a mission meant for Billy, it doesn't mean she has to like being assigned to it with him.

"We need to stay focused on the mission," she tells him simply.

He gives her an innocent look. It's convincing, but she knows better. "I am fully and totally intent on the mission at hand," he assures her. "I am, after all, a professional."

At that, she actually scoffs.

His demeanor slackens, a bit sheepish. "I'll admit, at times it appears less than true, but I can promise you that my utmost intent is always to complete the mission safely and successfully."

"Your methods are less than sanctioned," she reminds him.

"But our results are always pure," he reminds her right back.

And that is something she can't deny. Still, that doesn't mean she's going to admit it-especially to him.

He takes another step forward, hands out in total placation. "I understand this is a less than ideal situation for you," he says. "I mean, not everyone is driven for field work, and to be forced into such an unseemly situation would be stressful and irksome, to say the least. And to be forced into it with your ex-husband's team-that's the pinnacle of uncomfortable contexts."

He's telling her what she wants to hear-it's a tactic and she knows it-but he's still right. And she does want to hear it. Somehow it's reassuring to know that he's at least aware of it all.

He shrugs easily. "So let me simply put your mind at ease," he says. "This is a mission and that alone is my priority. Our personal histories and strained connections are irrelevant to the ultimate success in the field. I promise to respect those boundaries and respect you at all times during this foray, regardless of our cover or proximity."

She has to remind himself that he's a con and a spy, but somehow it doesn't totally matter, even when it does.

Keeping herself stiff, she nods woodenly. "That sounds reasonable," she concedes.

His face brightens, smile going wide. "Then my work here is done," he says. "Shall we reconvene at lunch? I like to give ample time to airport security-and I'd hate to miss our flight."

She sighs. "Yeah, fine," she says.

He claps his hands together. "Splendid!" he says, moving toward the door. "Oh, and you can have your pick of aisle or window. I am equally happy with both."

He takes off merrily down the hall and she watches him go for a second, in silent disbelief. It's hard to know what's real when it comes to the ODS and harder still to know how she feels about them altogether.

Still, for every reassurance, she harbors her doubts. If she's learned anything from the ODS, it's that for all they have to offer, she has just as much to lose.

-o-

The flight over is long. Billy is cordial but ever present, and she feels horribly obvious sitting next to him. Fay's never been very good at pretending, and she feels like everyone is looking at her when she settles down next to him for the flight over.

After a few hours, she's still seated primly, looking over the in-flight magazine absently. Billy, who has been doing a crossword puzzle, leans his head down to say softly. "You know, it's okay to be comfortable in these situations," he says.

She stiffens out of reflex. "But I'm not."

"Well, I grant you that airplanes are increasingly less accommodating to their varied passengers, but comfort is not so much a physical condition as it is a state of mind," he offers.

She huffs a small laugh. "Exactly."

Billy leans back in his seat. "Ah, I see," he says. "So is it present company that is making you so uncomfortable or something about the overall trip at large?"

That's a fair question, she supposes. Billy's cover depends on her, and really, she knows that hashing out these kind of details before things get hot and heavy is probably for the best if they're going to have a chance in pulling this off.

The fact is, they have to pull this off. If they don't, bad things will happen. Not just for the world, but probably for them.

She sighs. "This just isn't my first choice," she says.

"Such things rarely are," Billy tells her with an air of confidentiality. "But we've got excellent accommodations and your part in this is small to say the least."

"It's still a lie," she says with a rueful smile.

His brow furrows. "Aye, you've got me on that one," he says. "But most things we do involve such dishonesties."

She collects a breath and presses her lips together, shaking her head as she looks down the length of the cabin. "And that's exactly what makes me uncomfortable."

Billy inclines his head and gives her a knowing look. "This may not be business as usual for you, but surely you understand the nature of the job."

"I understand it," she agrees with a nod. "And I don't have to like it." She stops and looks at Billy icily. "And I don't have to like those who do."

Billy doesn't disagree, and when he settles back in his seat, Fay tries not to notice that content smile on his face looks forced.

-o-

By the time they land in Paris, Fay isn't sure what is more tiresome: Billy's nonstop conversation or the jet lag from a trans-Atlantic flight. She's not as young as she used to be, and the glories of traveling have dimmed with the heartache that's accompanied it.

When they get to their hotel, she's pleased to find it's upscale and large. She appreciates Billy's fast check in and is grateful when he pays the bellhop to deal with their bags.

In their room, she's first taken aback by its luxury. It's large and opulent; her cover as a trophy wife to Billy's burgeoning financial success definitely has its perks. She'll have no problem fitting in with her old friends; she won't even have a problem making them jealous.

There's a certain satisfaction in that; her life in the States has been less than noteworthy and she still feels like the lesser child at family reunions where her sister comes and preens with her latest accomplishments. So this might actually be a pleasant change of pace, at least on one level.

But then she sees the one bed-massive but solitary in the middle of the room-and she stops cold. "You have got to be kidding me."

Billy meanders up behind her, stopping next to her. "Ah," he says. "I can see how that would be less than ideal."

She snorts, shaking her head. "You're sleeping on the floor."

Billy wisely nods. "Well," he says with a surprising amount of enthusiasm and more than a trace of resignation. "Hard surfaces are supposedly wonderful for your back."

"You could also sleep on the couch," she suggest as consolation.

At that, Billy frowns, looking at the couch. It has ornate fabric and curved arms, but it's more for show than comfort. "It does look quite nice," he says cautiously. "But between a stiff back and leg cramps, I may have to settle for the back."

Fay just lifts her nose and moves to unpack her bag, marginally mollified that she won't be the only one who finds this mission to be long.

-o-

Fay goes to sleep early, partly because she's tired from all the time traveling but mostly because she doesn't want to deal with being in a hotel room with one of her ex's partners. Billy's entirely a gentlemen-he gives her ample space and seems to respect her privacy when she tucks into bed-but that really doesn't change the fact that she's sleeping in a strange room undercover with someone she prefers to see only in mission briefings.

The morning sunlight doesn't cast the entire situation in a light any more positive. In fact, though she wakes up rested and comfortable, she's immediately reminded of the situation when she takes a good look at the room.

Apparently, when Fay had gone to bed early, Billy had made himself at home.

His suitcase is open, things strewn about. A mess of clothes trails from it, hanging haphazardly about the room. His toiletry bag is propped up in front of the bathroom, with a bottle of cologne and what appears to be a razor on the ground nearby. There's a bag of chips and a bottle of soda across the floor.

And then there's his makeshift bed.

As promised, Billy has taken up residence on the floor, nestled on a large area rug on the far side of the room. Somehow he's managed to find an extra blanket and has pulled the extra pillow from the couch. These are probably appropriate measures, but his long body is face down, spread eagle over the ground, bare feet sticking out and one arm stretched across the floor while the other is tucked under his stomach. His face is smashed against the pillow, hair sticking up at odd angles and mouth open slightly as he sleep.

It might be endearing if it wasn't so ridiculous.

Sighing, she pushes the sheets back. Walking over to him, she nudges him slightly with her foot.

He snorfles in his sleep, twitching a little. His legs curl up a little as he rolls onto his side.

Shaking her head, she nudges him again. "Billy."

This time, he startles awake, jerking upright with a momentary look of panic.

Then he seems to remember where he is and squints up at her with a smile. "Morning?" he asks, as if he's not entirely sure it's the right greeting.

It takes a great deal of self control to damper her exasperation. "Michael is going to be here for our morning check," she tells him.

Billy frowns, still looking at her. "Yes," he says, though he clearly doesn't get her drift.

"So I thought maybe you'd like to be awake," she says, then looks around. "And, you know, presentable."

Billy's brow furrows at the insinuation.

Fay rolls her eyes. "You know, this isn't your dorm room," she reminds him.

Craning his neck, he seems to look at the room. "Ah," he says. "Sometimes I forget that the fairer sex tends to have a greater appreciate for cleanliness and organization."

"No," Fay corrects. "I just prefer not to feel like I'm living in a pig sty."

His blue eyes are wide and earnest. "I pride myself on having a tough exterior, but I will say that your words are hurtful."

"They're true," she says curtly. "I'm taking a shower."

He nods dutifully. "No need to be so dour," he says. "Things will be better when you get out, I promise."

With another sigh, she turns away, padding her way to the bathroom to prepare herself for the inevitable.

-o-

Fay takes her time in the shower. The water is hot and the pressure is good and the longer she can stay in the steam, the less she has to face the reality of this situation. In the bathroom, she can lock the mission out, pretend like she's here of her own accord, just herself and her dreams in a way she hasn't had since her time in college.

Not that her time with the CIA has been bad necessarily-she values what she does and she takes pride in being good at it-but all the duplicity has seem to cost her everything. From her relationships to her aspirations, it's all subjugated to the wills and demands of a greater good. Sometimes that's just wearing.

Other times, like today, it's almost enough to make her wish she'd never joined at all.

But this is the wrong time for such doubts. If only because there's a mission hinging on her and she's not one to walk away until there's really no other options.

Even then, she doesn't like quitting. At least not when people haven't quit on her first.

And as much as she'd like to deny it, Billy's lack of personal cleanliness does not negate his commitment to the mission.

Dressed and ready, she steps back out into the main room. The first thing she notices is that it is in fact clean. Or, cleaner. Billy has dumped the blankets and the pillow on the bed, picking up his things and throwing them in his suitcase. Clothes still hang out the sides, but it is a marked improvement from before.

The second thing she notices is the steaming breakfast waiting for her.

"I took the liberty of ordering us a few things," Billy says from one of the chairs. He's dressed immaculately and even if his hair is still askew, he certainly looks the part of a well-to-do businessman. He nods toward the table, peering at her over his cup of coffee. "With all we have on the agenda, I feared we wouldn't have time for a proper meal."

It's actually surprisingly thoughtful and she feels a pang of guilt for waking him so rudely.

Moderately chagrined, she smiles awkwardly and seats herself across from him. The trays are already open, and Billy has helped himself to part of the impressive spread.

She picks a few items for herself and takes a sip of the coffee Billy has poured her. "You seem like you've done this before," she notes.

"Over the years, I have become a connoisseur of room service," he says grandly. "It's easy to spot which items are most likely to be delectable with a single glance of the menu."

"One of the side effects of traveling so much, I suppose," she says, eating a piece of fruit which, she has to admit, tastes particularly good.

"Yes," Billy says with a nod as he takes a bit of what appears to be a steak and cheese omelet. "It also helps that I've been living out of hotels since I came to the fair shores of America all those years ago."

She stops mid-chew, surprised. "You live in a hotel?"

Billy shrugs nonchalantly, taking a drink. "I find leases to be complicated endeavors, better suited for those with a more stable lifestyle," he explains. "Besides, you have seen my personal habits, so surely you can understand why maid service is counted among the necessities in my life."

There's some truth in that, but still, it's hard for Fay to fathom as she finishes chewing and swallows. "But that can't seem like home," she says.

At that, his smile is a little bittersweet. "Well, when I moved to your fine country, I was hard pressed to imagine any of it could seem like home," he tells her.

It's a point she hasn't thought about extensively. She's read Billy's file. Though the details are all omitted-top secret, or so she's told-the basics are there. His impressive career with the British resulted in an impressive deportation. Higgins must have known the details when he okayed Billy's hire, but while his career with the CIA has been equally impressive, Billy is still not allowed to go back home.

Ever.

The thought almost makes her frown.

"But come," Billy says, spearing a piece of meat and eating it readily. "Today is not a day to share our skeletons. Today is the day for a mission."

At that, her shoulders slump slightly. She forces a smile. "I can barely control my excitement."

"Surely there's something about all this that invigorates you," he says jovially. "Even Casey knows how to crack a smile from time to time."

"Casey likes to lie, manipulate, and destroy-three things well suited to this job," she says.

Billy nods. "Valid point," he says. "Though this all really begs the question: what does Ms. Fay Carson really and truly enjoy?"

And that is the question. It has to be more than warm baths and a good book-because she likes those things, looks forward to them, but they're not what she lives for. She likes friends-though she doesn't have as many as she used to-and she likes art museums-but there's no one who likes to go with her.

She likes her job-putting together files and piecing out missions. But what else? What does she really want?

It's a question she stopped asking herself. She's not sure when, but some time after she divorced Michael. Some time after he broke her heart but was too damn oblivious to even see it.

Across from her, Billy inclines his head. "So a mystery then," he says. His smile pulls mischievously at his mouth. "Something I can both appreciate and relate to."

His deflection in this is almost like mercy. She takes another bite and straightens, pretending like that was her intention all along.

Billy keeps smiling at her as he turns his attention back to his breakfast. She has a feeling he knows better, but she's inordinately grateful that he's willing to play along.

-o-

Billy's polite emotional distance is about the only thing going in her favor this morning. They're not done with breakfast when there's a knock at the door.

"Extra towels," a familiar voice calls.

Billy looks at her with a grin. "A maid!" he says with mock exclamation. "How lovely!"

She can't quite return his smile or even attempt to match his exuberance. He practically bounces out of his seat and opens the door with a flourish, holding out one arm as he ushers Michael inside.

Michael is dressed for the role. The uniform looks a little ridiculous, but she can't deny that he fills it out quite nicely.

She's embarrassed by the very thought and she's blushing with her mouth open when Michael walks further in the room.

Billy, on the other hand, snickers. "You look spectacular," he says, crossing his arms in satisfaction over his chest. "Though shouldn't maids wear an apron?"

Michael is nonplussed even as he looks at Billy critically. "I'm an upper level bell hop," he says. He holds out a towel. "I don't clean, I serve."

Billy frowns mockingly. "Your disposition lacks a little charm," he comments. He quirks an eyebrow. "Might be hellish on your tips."

"Well, here's a tip," Michael says, tossing the towel on the bed and lifting up a file. "Maybe we should prep for the mission."

Billy holds his hands out and seems to be smiling despite himself. "Proceed, oh fearless leader," he says.

Michael pulls himself together and looks at Fay. Then he looks at her again, in that way that Michael can, where he seems to see everything about her, inside and out.

It's unsettling, and her stomach flutters. Shifting, she sits up straighter, crossing her legs closer to her body as she tries to look entirely prudent and professional.

With another breath, Michael's focus shifts and he deposits the file on the table. "We've already got eyes on Fay's contact," he explains.

Fay flips open the file and stiffens slightly. The man in the photos is familiar. "Richard hasn't changed at all," she comments.

"Except for the company he keeps," Michael says. "His company is above board overall, but he's in partnership with this man." He flips to the next photo, showing another man, one who Fay only recognizes vaguely.

"Lucas Whitmore," she recalls.

Michael nods. "Another old acquaintance then?"

Fay looks at him pointedly. "We had a few classes together in college," she says. "I didn't know him like I did Richard."

This piques Michael's interest. "And how well did you know Richard?"

She glowers. "He was dating my best friend," she tells him. "Not that it's any of your business."

Billy is watching their repartee and hedges his way back in. "So the plan is still the same," he ventures.

Michael eases up and Fay looks at him gratefully. With a nod, Michael says, "Richard's been quite frequent at the hotel bar. It shouldn't be too hard to stage a chance meeting."

"And then our lovely Fay simply needs to exert her obvious powers of allure to rekindle the old acquaintance," Billy says.

"And we just happen to know that Richard is hosting a party in a mansion just outside the city," Michael explains. "As per the request of his dear friend Lucas."

Fay nods. "So he doesn't have any idea what he's getting into," she says. "It's a shame. He was always a good guy. He'd give you the shirt off his back if you wanted it."

"Which is what we're counting on," Michael says.

"We get an invite, play nice with Lucas and see if we can get eyes on his contact with the uranium," Billy surmises.

"Once we get a positive ID, we can track both Lucas and the seller, make a few arrests, and take the uranium off the market," Michael concludes.

"And we have permission from the French for this foray?" Billy asks.

Michael collects the file and shrugs. "Officially, no," he says. "But our friend Luc is aware of the situation and is on standby if we happen to need back up. He's agreed to let us handle the perpetrators if we give him credit for the uranium."

Billy smirks. "Enough glory to spread around, I suppose," he says.

Fay listens to their conversation with a growing trepidation. She's known the plan all along, of course. She's known why she's here. But seeing the photos, seeing Richard, knowing she's about to exploit him and possibly put him in danger-it's a strange thing. Unsettling.

She realizes quite suddenly that Michael is watching her; Billy, too.

Straightening, she forces a smile. "So we have a time for our so called coincidental meeting?"

Michael is skeptical, but he doesn't say anything. "Richard has a standing reservation in the hotel restaurant at eleven for brunch," he explains. "He's never late."

Billy nods. "Sounds like a foolproof entrance," he says. "And I do love a good brunch."

Michael is still watching Fay, eyes narrowed. "Are we good?" he asks.

His concern is almost sweet, which is exactly why she bristles. Michael has no rights to her anymore-not to her personal life, not to her safety. No matter what doubts or trepidation she may have, she can do this mission. She _will_ do this mission.

Tossing her head just slightly, she squares her shoulder. "I'm good," she tells him purposefully. She tilts her head. "Are you?"

The smile he offers back is tight and measured. "Ready when you are," he says.

There's an awkward, tense silence between them, and Fay knows what Michael's not saying. She feels it, just as readily as he does. Neither of them like this mission, no matter how well it's planned or how many failsafes they put in place. And yet, where Michael wants to draw her closer, to protect her, she wants to pull away, to protect herself. Of all the risks in the field, it's the one right here between she and Michael that she fears most.

Because there was a time when maybe she would have turned to him. But there was also a time when she needed him and he hadn't been there. Fay has tried to forgive, she's tried to forget, but one time is a fluke. Years of it is a pattern.

She can't trust him now. Not completely. Not even if she wants to.

From the side, Billy takes a large breath. "As for me," he interjects with a forceful buoyancy that doesn't fool any of them. "I was born ready."

Of all the lies that have been told, Fay thinks that this one is probably the closest to the truth.

-o-

It's not like she thinks it will be.

She's always labored under the impression that espionage is risky, perilous, and stressful. But seated at a table near the brunch buffet, it seems surprisingly easy.

After all, the ambiance is spectacular-the decorative touches in the dining room are opulent and gorgeous-and there are crystal chandeliers as people dine on elegant china. And the food is rich and decadent, exotic and full of flavor.

If she let herself, it would be easy to be charmed by it all. Because there she is, in Paris, eating fine food among finer clientele.

And Billy fits right in. This isn't exactly a surprise to her, but it is something else to see it in action. He's always suave but with a few touches of refinement in his mannerisms, he's transformed from dapper to downright dashing. There isn't a person in that room who would second guess that he's anything less than he says he is.

Of course, as soon as Fay wants to forget, she catches a glimpse of Casey at the bar and Rick busing tables. She can't see Michael, which just means he's watching her even closer than the rest. More than that, she and Billy are wired, which makes any idle chitchat so much more.

Fortunately, Billy is good at idle chitchat, and he regales her with anecdotes on food and hotels from some of his more interesting travels. She might actually find it noteworthy-he has some fascinating tidbits about the olives in northern Spain and the cheese fondue in Switzerland-but she can't change the fact that every word she murmurs is going right to Michael.

Mission protocol, she understands. It still makes her angry.

Fay was married long enough to know the passive-aggressive games most couples play, but she's not been divorced long enough to have let it go entirely. When Michael gets under her skin (and he always can, when he wants to), she wants to even the score. It's almost a default, she figures, for any struggling couple-an inevitable side effect of sorting out the assets and assigning guilt and blame in clean, monetary sums.

So maybe that's why her thoughts take a vindictive bent. That and Michael's smug look at the briefing, his frustrating air of professionalism when she knows he's sitting in some corner, hanging on her every word, looking for any word to use to regain the upper hand when it comes to things between them. It's Michael's notion of love, she knows, and his plaintive denial of the fact that he can't choose her now when he didn't choose her then and she's tired of having to remind him of that point.

Overall, she's just frustrated. She's frustrated that after all these years, Michael still doesn't get it. Frustrated that she's stuck here on this mission in this place. Frustrated that he can still make her feel so frustrated at all.

It's petty maybe, but she wants to return the favor. _Needs_ to in order to make it through this with her pride and confidence intact.

"So," Fay says, aware that she's interrupting Billy's retelling of a trip to Morocco. "In all of this traveling, was any of it on your personal time?"

Billy is surprised by her sudden interest. "If you haven't noticed, personal time in our line of work isn't exactly common."

She takes a sip of her water, nodding. "I remember," she says. "Michael pulled out of every vacation we ever planned."

It's something that Billy can't control his outright shock by her shift in conversation. "Well, it can be rather difficult-"

She shrugs. "National security," she says with a nod. "Trust me, I've heard all the excuses."

Billy's expression softens a bit, his blue eyes sympathetic. "It's not an easy lifestyle for relationships."

She pins him with a tired look. "That's the same excuse everyone gives when they don't put their marriage first."

At that, Billy squirms. She's not sure if he's taking this personally or just feeling bad on Michael's behalf; either way, it gives her the certainty that she's hitting up the right nerve.

Fay's out of her element enough that she might drive the point home when Michael's voice buzzes in her ear. "Look alive, Richard is approaching the dining room."

She barely has time to refocus her attentions, to get back into her cover, when there's a familiar bellow from across the room.

"Fay? Fay Carson?"

Fay looks up in time to see Richard. He looks even more like himself in person and the wide smile is entirely what she remembers. He approaches her table quickly, and as she stands to greet him, he embraces her in a hug.

When they pull away, he looks at her again. "My goodness, Fay, you look more beautiful today than you did in college," he says.

She finds herself blushing. "Life has been kind to you as well, Richard," she says, nodding toward him, and it's the truth. Age has refined his features and the hints of gray in his hair are stately additions to his warm persona.

"And imagine meeting you here, of all places," he says. "Back where it began."

"Yes," she says. "It's been a while since I've been back."

"I'm here quite often on business," Richard explains and his eyes finally flit toward Billy, who is watching with patient curiosity. He looks back at Fay, a little mischievous. "And is this a trip for business or pleasure?"

"Both, actually," she says and her mind fumbles for her cover. Turning awkwardly, she gestured to Billy. "My husband is here on business."

Richard's eyebrows go up. "Oh, I hadn't heard," he says. "Congratulations. I'm Richard Barton."

Fay's not sure what to say next, but thankfully Billy doesn't need any more of an introduction. He stands up grandly, extending his hand with a wide smile. "Elliot Cutter," he says. "And I take it you must be a friend of my lovely wife."

Richard takes Billy's hand and shakes it heartily. "Old friends," he says. "Back in our college days."

Billy beams at Fay. "She always has such fond memories of those times," he says. He looks back at Richard. "I think that after all her storytelling of the graces of this city is what made me turn here for business at all."

"It is quite apt for that," Richard agrees. "What business are you in?"

Billy shrugs. "A little of everything, as it were," he says. "Trying to expand into green commodities-keep up with the changing times."

"Fascinating," Richard says. "You know, you and I have a lot in common, I think. And I don't just mean the lovely Fay."

"Well, Fay is quite the apt starting point," Billy says, moving just slightly closer to her.

Fay tries not to show how uncomfortable it makes her.

"She is that," Richard says, eyeing her for a moment longer. "Which is why we simply should not let this opportunity pass us by. Old friends and new acquaintances are worth pursuing. I would hate to neglect such a rare chance."

Billy's smile is bright. "No need for neglect," he says. "I believe strongly in embracing chance. In fact, you are welcome to join us-we've only just been served."

Richard looks to Fay.

Fay smiles, gesturing to the empty seat at their table. "Yes, yes, please," she says, trying to sound insistent. "It's been too long. We have a lot of time to cover."

Richard only hesitates a second. "Well, how can I refuse," he says, glancing over at the waiter and nodding to add another place setting. He seats himself, smile still grand.

Billy waits for Fay to follow suit, before sitting down himself. The waiter brings the extra place setting and Richard seems immediately comfortable.

Of course, Billy's obviously friendly overtures certainly help ease the tensions, and he wastes no time spurring the conversation along. "So tell me, Richard, you said you work here often on business," he says as the waiter refills the water at the table. "What exactly do you do?"

Fay remembers to smile but barely remembers to breathe as the conversation starts and goes, and the mission sees its first success.

-o-

Several hours later, after eating and drinking and laughing and sharing stories, Fay flops on the bed back in the room she's sharing with Billy. Throwing her head back, she shakes her hair and blows out a breath.

Billy is undoing his tie, grinning at her. "So how was your first taste of the field?" he asks.

She huffs a laugh. "More than a taste, I think," she says. "I feel like I've gained ten pounds!"

"Aye, that is one of the perils of espionage that they fail to warn you about," he says. "Your body is at the mercy of the mission, be it torture or peril or the over indulgence of the well-to-do."

Fay has to smile. "Still, that was impressive," she says.

Billy lifts his eyebrows. "The spread of food?"

"No, you," she says, watching him with fresh interest. He's discarded his tie somewhere on the floor and his jacket is now strewn over a chair. "I mean, you managed to get him to tell us his entire life story, complete with business details."

Billy shrugs, sitting heavily in one of the chairs. "People enjoy talking about themselves," he says. "Ask the right questions and provide the best company and they'll often willingly share most of their secrets, be they dark or not."

"Well," she says, crossing her legs and sitting up a bit, "it's still impressive. By the time he invited us to the party, he was convinced it was his idea."

Eyes twinkling, Billy winks slightly at her. "Lively brunch mates make fine additions to any soiree," he says confidentially. "And I dare say that he wanted to see more of you."

There's insinuation in his voice with that, and she can't help but look away. She'd noticed Richard's attentions as well, although she'd mostly talked herself out of taking note. "We were friends."

Billy gives her a look. "I rarely look at my friends in such a longing manner," he says.

She sighs, but she's still smiling. "There might have been a time when we could have been more," she relents finally. "But my best friend loved him. That's all there was to it."

Billy nods. "Very noble," he says. "Although I would wager that's a choice he may regret now. I half thought I might have to defend your honor the way that man was ogling the woman who is supposedly my wife of the weekend."

Fay laughs again. "That's ridiculous."

"Oh, I think not," Billy says. "Part of the reason he was so willing to talk was because it gave him more time to eye your clearly attractive figure. Our success in this mission is only half based on my charm and the rest of it can be attributed to your grace, elegance, and allure."

It's a beautiful type of flattery. "I bet you say that to all your partners."

Billy purses his lips, thinking about it. "To Rick, yes," he accedes. "Michael, perhaps, if the conditions are right. Casey, never."

At that she laughs heartily. "Well, no matter what you say, I know you salvaged the meet back there."

He bats at the air dismissively.

"No, I'm serious," she says, and she feels looser now, too. After several hours undercover with Billy, there's a different bond between them. A certain camaraderie she wouldn't have expected. She knows the difference between the cover and reality, and she is by no means smitten with the Scotsman, but he's not quite the same man to her now. He's closer and friendlier. She respects him. She may even like him. "When I saw Richard, I froze. I knew what I was supposed to say, but being there, lying to someone I've considered a friend…"

Billy's look is sympathetic. "Field work takes a certain amount of finesse," he says. "Such things take years to develop. You should have seen me as a fresh lad over with the British. Couldn't have conned my way into selling alcohol to a tried and true alcoholic."

She snorts. "Somehow, I doubt that."

He shrugs. "The charming and debonair persona you see before you is something that has taken years to perfect," he says. "Spies have to surrender themselves entirely, and that's no easy task for someone to do on their first mission out."

There's sense to that, even if she doesn't want to admit it. Still, this time, she thinks she can't deny it. "Being on the other side of the mission, I guess it's just easy to forget the compromises field operatives make."

"And being on this side of the mission, it's often easy to forget that we are bastards in the utmost."

Her smile is rueful. "At least you can admit it."

He's watching her carefully, and his face collects itself with empathy. "It's much harder to be so honest when you're sincerely worried about what the other person thinks of you."

She freezes, swallowing with effort as she looks at him. "You don't have to defend him," she says. "I know you're teammates and friends, but what happened between Michael and I is strictly our business."

Billy shrugs guardedly. "Normally, I fully agree," he says. "And friend or not, I do readily see both sides of this situation. I know this isn't easy for you."

She finds herself unable to move for fear of giving something more away.

"Just know that it's not easy on him either," Billy says. "The ways of the heart are rarely right or wrong. They're just complicated-and that's before you bring in the double lives of the CIA into the picture"

Her gaze wanders and she considers it. Finally, she shakes her head. "I don't hate Michael," she says, her voice low. "I just don't know how to love him."

It's an admission that surprises her, not that she hasn't known that since she first met Michael, but she's not used to being so open about it. The divorce had been inevitable-or so she'd told herself-but in all of it, her reasons had never been because she hated him or had even stopped loving him with some part of her heart. But that part of her was broken-had been broken too many times-and the love hurt too much to let it grow.

That's the part she tries to remember when Michael comes to her office with a smile and a gleam in his eye. The part she makes herself remember when she's awake at night, wishing she wasn't alone. That's the part she has to remember now. Because falling in love with Michael Dorset is achingly easy; it's staying there that has its risks.

Billy holds up his hands. "No explanation needed," he says. "Espionage is messy and dangerous but still far easier to make sense of than the convoluted means of the heart."

It's not just an out of the conversation, it's true. More than that, it's exactly what she needs to hear. "You sound like you talk from experience."

Billy rolls his eyes a little. "I have many experiences, both good and bad," he says. "They have all helped mold me into the operative I am, but I can't let them control me. In the field, you have to let go of it entirely. You can't be yourself, even if you're relying on yourself to get the job done. You have to be more, down in your very core. If you don't believe your own lies, then the mark is more than likely to doubt them, too."

"But how do you do it?" she asks because she wants to know, _needs_ to know. "How do you put everything aside and just do what needs to be done?"

If the question is a surprise to Billy, he doesn't show it. But there's no arrogance or cockiness in his disposition. Instead, he gives her a simple smile and his eyes are bright but tired. "You answered your own question," he tells her. "You just do it. You put it all aside because the consequence if you don't are dire, and usually the things most at risk are the things you want to protect the most."

Chewing her lip, she shakes her head. She thinks about the lies they told to Richard, about the false history of her life since college and how she'd willingly deceived a friend. "You make it sound so easy."

"Words are always easy, just like a mission looks simple on paper," he says. "But out here-in this job-nothing's easy. Doesn't change the fact that we have to do it."

The lines are all blurred-truth and reality, friendship and forced alliances-but there's a bedrock of truth in that. Something she can hold on to while she lies to people she thought she cared about, while she tries to ignore the fact that she cares about people she wishes she didn't. Something she can cling to when Richard's smile is too trusting, Michael's smile is too knowing, and Fay just wishes she were home.

-o-

Walking into the banquet hall, Fay is reminded of what her life could have been. The life of a socialite was never something that had inherently appealed to her. She had danced around the fringes of such a lifestyle in her years abroad, but she'd been young and idealistic. The idea of fancy dinner parties had seemed too decadent to base her life goals on such things.

That was why she had studied political science along with art. She had wanted both-the culture and the politics.

Now, years later, as she walks into the cultural reality, she realizes how much she's given up for the politics. There had been job offers, after all. Positions at galleries in France. One working possibility at a museum in Vienna. Opportunities of a lifetime that she had turned down for the CIA.

It hadn't been a hard decision, really. She believed in the greater good, that beautiful things weren't just paintings and sculptures but a world safe enough to enjoy them. She had talents to use, and the CIA would use them all.

That's still true, she supposes, though sometimes she wonders if the CIA will just use them until they're gone and she'll have nothing left to ever find herself in a place like this of her own accord.

Because it is a spectacular venue. Gothic architecture with sweeping ceilings and hand painted murals across the arches. Classical art hangs on the walls, with hand-carved filigree along the marble-lined halls.

And the people. Dressed in evening gowns and tuxes, making small talk about the best years for wine and the latest symphony performances to attend. They're polite and well-mannered, refined and educated.

It's a far cry from her life at the CIA, from drinking bitter coffee in the break room while trying to manage messes made in the name of national security. It's not that spies are bad people; it's not even that the social elite here are better people. It's just that Fay has given up everything-from her dreams to her heart, and sometimes she's not so sure what she's really gained in return.

Billy leads her cordially, arm wrapped lightly around her to convey their togetherness without actually getting fresh. It's a little funny, really, because it's been years since she's been treated like a real woman. Longer still since she's been able to go out with her hair done up and makeup all in place, on the arm of a man who knew how to make her feel special.

Of course, Billy is enacting a cover and her ex-husband and his entire team are stationed throughout the party, but for that moment-that single moment-Fay wants to relish it for what it's worth.

Billy leans in close next to her, his voice hot and quiet in her ear. "Once we get eyes on Richard, we need to make our move," he says. "We have one window here, and I'm afraid it won't be long."

She smirks. "So no caviar then?" she asks ruefully.

Billy smiles gallantly at her. "Caviar is a must," he says. "But we may have to draw the line at crab cakes. Entirely too much mess for our timeline."

That actually makes her laugh, and as Billy passes a waiter, he pauses to grab a glass of champagne. He hands it off to her grandly.

Accepting it, she lifts her eyebrows. "Is this entirely by the book?"

Billy scoffs. "When in Rome, you must do as the Romans," he says. "And while at decadent dinner parties, a little self indulgence is absolutely required."

She's still not quite sure about the mission protocol on such things, but as she takes a sip, she can't deny that a little alcohol feels good on her frayed nerves. Because the opulence of the hall only reinforces how out of place Fay is. She might have belonged here-once, in a different life-but she doesn't belong here now. Her entire presence is a farce and a con, and she feels like everyone can see just by looking at her.

Billy puts his arm around her again, navigating them through the crowd. "You look spectacular, by the way," he says.

She takes another drink and smiles. "You've been working with men too long."

"That may in fact be true," Billy concedes. "But that does not change the fact that you are indeed the most sophisticated woman in the room."

Fay laughs.

"I'm quite serious," Billy says. "With all the attention you're gleaning from your very presence, I'm becoming a bit nervous at maintaining my typical affluent stealth."

She shakes her head, eyes scanning the crowd, looking for a familiar face. "You really are insufferable."

"He is insufferable," Michael's voice comes over their comm link.

Fay flinches, suddenly remembering her earwig.

"And Billy, stop flirting with my wife," Michael orders.

Fay's jaw tightens and she looks around the room pointedly for any sign of Michael. "It's nice to be with a man who actually takes the time to appreciate me in all aspects," she says.

"My intentions on all counts are entirely noble," Billy says, and it's not clear if he's assuring her or Michael.

"Well, while everyone is being noble," Casey's voice interjects, "I've got eyes on our mark, entering from the south."

That's the cue they've been waiting for, and Fay's annoyance gives way to the pounding of her heart. Billy steers them around and Fay looks through the crowd and finally sees Richard coming in the entrance, just as Casey advertised.

He's impeccably dressed, a beautiful date on his arm. Fay doesn't know the woman-just like she doesn't know any of the other people here-and she reminds herself that no matter what she's feeling, no matter what doubts she has, she has a job to do.

It's time to put the rest aside and focus on that.

Time to put Michael, put her uncertainties, put her regrets aside, and get the job done.

-o-

In the ambiance of the party, Richard is even more sociable than before. Fay remembers this-how easily Richard used to unwind with the slightest provocation. Billy keeps them stocked with champagne and when Richard suggests that Billy meet his business partners to see if they can all work something out, it comes about as seemingly natural.

Billy even manages to apologize for dwelling on business, trying to redirect the conversation, to the point where Richard nearly has to drag Billy forcibly out of his seat. "Fay can spare you, can't she?" Richard asks, looking back at Fay.

"Of course," Fay says readily, not because she wants to be alone but because the sooner this mission is over, the sooner she can get out of here.

"Are you sure?" Billy asks, perfectly in character. "I know how you hate when ramble on about business."

"All the more reason for you to do it in your private company," Fay tells him.

Billy's face brightens. "She's terribly understanding, my beautiful Fay," he says to Richard.

Richard's eyes linger. "The best ones are," he says. "I will just arrange a few introductions and then be right back. You will be here?"

Richard is looking expectantly at Fay and for a second, she doesn't know what to say. Ultimately there's no other answer and her earwig feels itchy and hot when she says, "Certainly. Lots of old times to catch up on."

Billy gives her one last look-more appraising than the last-but she just nods. Satisfied, he allows Richard to lead him away, and by the time they're out of earshot, they're already talking business proposals and new ideas.

With them gone, Fay breathes out, letting her shoulders sag. It's exhausting, all the lying. Now she realizes why Michael always came back from missions feeling weary. It's not the jet lag and it's not the physical exertion per say-but the sheer emotional toll of deception is more than she had anticipated.

"And we've got contact," Michael's voice comes into her ear.

Fay glances around, sees Rick with a serving tray. He nods at her encouragingly.

"Just hold cover and hold position," Michael instructs. "We should have this done in no time."

And all Fay can think as she takes another sip is that it's not soon enough.

-o-

It should be easy to hold position.

Of course, that doesn't take into consideration Richard. When he comes back, he settles back down, looking at Fay with a curious expectancy.

"So," Fay says, feeling awkward. Without Billy there to leverage the conversation, her dialogue skills feel clunky. As artistically inclined as she may be, acting has never been her forte. "Is the business discussion underway?"

"Oh, yes," Richard replies. "I set your husband up in a private meeting with one of my business partners. Maybe you remember Lucas."

Fay's face brightens. "Of course," she says. "I didn't know you two were still friends."

"Business partners, really," Richard says. "We've found our paths to be mutually beneficial."

"So you won't be needed in the conversations?" Fay asks, somewhat hopeful that Richard will find a reason to leave her alone.

Richard flits a hand through the air. "Lucas' exploits far exceed my own," he says. "His ambition reminds me of your husband, so I trust they'll be apt company."

This sounds reasonable, maybe even expected. Still, Fay has to force her smile. "Well, I feel like I've kept you from your guests," she says, making a move to leave.

"Nonsense," he says. "Most of these are people I've seen too much of already. I hadn't realized what I'd been missing until I saw you this morning. Makes me remember how things used to be. All the ways things could have been different."

The nostalgia in his voice is genuine, and she feels herself relax. "I know the feeling," she says. "Life does seem to get away from you."

"But not you," Richard points out keenly. "I mean, look at you. Happily married, working freelance in the art you've always loved. Things seem so perfect. All that you could hope."

Cover or not, his assertions make her feel rueful. "Life isn't always everything it seems," she says.

Richard's smile is sympathetic. "So another thing we have in common," he says. "Sometimes I think I'd trade the success and the parties, just for something real. Like the conversations we all had back in college."

It's an idealized past Fay remembers. "Things don't seem so bad now," she says, offering it as a meager olive branch.

Richard's look is warm. "No, I suppose not," he says. He pauses, looking around the room. Then he leans forward. "Would you like to see the things I've been doing in my personal time?"

It surprises her. "Oh, I don't-"

"Just my art," he says. "You were always so intent on me following through with some of it, and while I never made a career of it, I never gave it up. But it's been years since I've shared it. I would love a second opinion."

There's a hum of noticeable silence in her ear. She remembers the mission. She remembers her role. Keeping Richard preoccupied will give Billy more time to accomplish his means and make it less likely for anyone to catch wind of the sting.

And she remembers Richard's art. That was how they met-in art class. He had wanted to be a painted-an impressionist. His girlfriend at the time had steered him from that and Fay had had no grounds to persuade him otherwise. The idea that he still held onto it, though, gave her hope. Not for Richard, but for herself. Maybe she could still have it all.

This time, her smile is real. "Of course," she says. "I'd love to."

"Wonderful," he says, getting to his feet. He gestures toward the door. "Right this way."

Fay gets to her feet and nods her acquiescence and follows him out the door.

-o-

The manor is more impressive the farther from the banquet hall they get. There is no stop to the splendor, and ever the nooks and crannies are fully attired in the best of culture and refinement. It's all she can do to keep from gaping in wide-eyed wonder.

He leads her through several corridors and when he opens one, she doesn't hesitate to go in.

It doesn't take her more than a second to realize it's a bedroom.

It's only another second to realize it's his bedroom.

Her hesitation is instantaneous, but as Richard lopes in, she has no time to indulge it. "Forgive the quarters," he says. "I figure the only room safe enough for my private work is one where most people never go."

That's when she notices the walls. Like the rest of the home, they're full of art. But unlike the classical pieces throughout the house, these are different. Modern and impressionistic, ranging from surrealism to bold realism.

It takes her breath. "You did all these?" she asks, in total disbelief.

"In my free time," Richard acknowledges.

She looks at them, moving from one to another in awe. When she finally pulls away, she realizes that Richard's not looking at the art; he's looking at her.

Swallowing, she laughs. "I have to say, I'm impressed," she says, trying to deflect her awkward uncertainty as best she can. She has to focus on the job. Focus to get it done.

His gaze doesn't waver. "Me, too."

With purpose, she swallows and walks around him widely. There had been a time when she would have considered Richard, a time back in college when she maybe wanted something like this. And maybe now, if things were different. If this wasn't a mission, if she'd been honest about anything since seeing him.

As it is, this isn't what she wants. For herself or for the mission.

Richard moves, turning around. "I've missed you, Fay," he says, and there's such longing that she has to stop and turn around.

He's still _looking _at her. Intense and knowing. Like Michael does, only without the subtlety and affection. There's just want.

That's when she realizes that she's not the only one pulling a con. All of Richard's friendly overtures, all of his polite moves to move Billy into a business meeting-it's not just Richard's friendly nature. It's that he has his eyes set on something else.

He has his eyes set on Fay. Literally and figuratively and it doesn't take a spy to put those pieces together; all her defenses are rising and mission or no mission, she wants a way out.

Backing up, she presses her lips together in a smile. "I think I gave you the wrong idea," she says, easing her way toward the door.

Richard still advances. "This connection between us-it's always been meant to be. Just like in college."

"You were dating my best friend," she reminds him.

"And as soon as you were gone, I never looked at her again."

Fay feels flushed, heart thudding in her chest. She works to remember her cover. "I'm married."

"And you're not happy," he says readily. He's close enough now that she can smell him, the faint smell of his after shave, the tinge of alcohol on his breath. He's buzzed, and Fay remembers too late that he can't hold his liquor. "I can see it in your eyes."

"We're making it work," Fay says, feeling desperate now as she gets to the door. "And I respect that-"

Her fingers close on the handle and Richard closes the distance between them, leaning his weight against the door to keep it shut. "You're far too beautiful to live lies anymore," he says.

The irony is not lost on her. She laughs hotly. "And you know the truth."

"I know you want this," he says, and he moves in, pressing his lips against her.

It's so sudden that she squirms, trying to pull away. Richard presses hard, moving his body closer and the alcohol is heavier than she expects it to be.

Feeling panicked, she remembers that she's not a field operative, but she's still CIA. More than that, she lives in DC and she knows how to take care of herself.

With effort, she twists away, slamming her heel into his vulnerable instep.

He breaks off with a yelp, keeling over.

She doesn't wait for him to recover, opening the door in a rush and hurrying back out. In the hallway, she's breathing heavily, trying to make sense of where she is. She remembers the corridors, but they all look the same. Everything looks the same.

Suddenly the door opens behind her. Richard is there, fuming. "That's no way to treat an old friend," he seethes.

"I was your friend," she says. "But clearly I'm not anymore."

Something flickers in his eyes, and Fay starts off in a jog before he has a chance to react. Her heels click on the marble, and he's following suit. She struggles to breathe, to think, to focus-she turns hard at a corner, her desperation mounting, and runs straight into Billy.

His arms cushion her and her relief is instant.

"Now, there you are," he says, and his voice is calm and ordered.

Richard stops short. He's still a little disheveled, face red.

Billy easily tucks her to the side, stepping slightly in front of her.

"I thought you had business," Richard says darkly.

"Business is important," he agrees. "Other things are more important. Something which I think you know, since you ducked out of the meeting and instead made a pass at my wife."

Richard's face contorts.

"Not exactly good form, mate," Billy says.

"She came onto me," Richard insists.

Fay's going to protest but she doesn't need to. "And if that were the case, I'd respect her wishes. But a lady in retreat speaks for itself."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Richard spits.

"And you don't know how to be a gentleman," Billy returns.

Richard's face darkens again and this time he lunges. Fay yelps, stumbling backward, but Billy holds his ground. He meets Richard's advance with an easy punch that puts Richard on his back.

"I think our business and our pleasure here is done," Billy says. "We'll see ourselves out."

Richard sits up. "You son of a bitch," he says. "I opened my home up to you."

"For the wrong reasons," Fay snaps.

Richard just shakes his head, mouth twisted into a grimace. "You want to humiliate me?" he asks in accusation.

"I think you're doing well enough yourself," Billy tells him and he's turning toward Fay. Their eyes meet and she nods. He starts to walk, but he doesn't get a step when Fay sees the movement. But there's no time to yell, no time to move. No time to move anything as Richard attacks from behind.

Billy still handles the hit well, though they both go rolling. Fay scampers to the side in shock as Richard keeps swinging, even when he's down. Billy pulls himself clear but as he gets to his feet, his movements are slower and heavy.

Even so, when Richard moves in for another attack, this time Billy doesn't hold back. It's almost frightening how short the fight is. A few hits and a kick, and Richard's sprawled, unmoving, on his back.

Breathing heavy, Billy presses his finger to his ear even as he moves toward Fay, an arm around her waist as he ushers her down the hall. "We've had a snag, south wing," he says. "We are going to need to neutralize Richard, although I don't think we have anything to hold him on. But he will be trouble for the rest of the meet."

"Copy that," Casey says. "On my way."

"You need to get back to the meet," Michael's voice come. "I'm only a minute out."

Billy nods, turning another corner. Fay is struggling to keep pace with his long legs, but he doesn't slow down, leading her through one hallway after another until they all look the same to Fay. Still, he seems to know where he's going, and Fay is so focused on getting out that she doesn't think to question. So when he comes up short, she's surprised.

"Shouldn't we keep going?" she asks, looking back. "The mission..."

Billy is leaned against the wall. When he looks up at her, his eyes are wide and bright. "Just a small snag," he says, almost apologetic. "Tell Michael it's all in place. We just need to...to execute."

He's heaving now, face pale and sweaty.

She frowns. "But, I don't-"

She's going to say she doesn't understand.

But then she does.

Because a drip of blood splashes to the ground and Billy's entire shirt front is red. He has one hand pressed tight against it, but red still seeps through his fingers at an alarming rate.

She doesn't know if she should scream or cry but she does nothing.

Billy smile. "I'm sorry," he says as his eyes roll up in his head and his body goes slack, sliding down the wall and landing in a heap on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Notes and all in part one.

-o-

For a moment, time is frozen. Fay's standing, still in her evening gown with earrings that cost more than her entire yearly salary. The immaculate hallway stretches in both directions around her, the copious art almost dwarfing her entirely.

It's a pristine and exquisite backdrop to such a macabre scene. Because in the midst of all the grandeur, Billy's lying on his side, slumped against the wall, mouth open and face pale, with a spreading patch of red on his shirtfront that's starting to pool on the floor.

Fay tries to understand. Tries to understand that somewhere the mission went wrong. In her mind, she re-tracks the steps, tries to figure out how they got here, but it's hard. The disparate pieces don't add up. She's flying to Paris against her will and telling lies to someone she thought was her friend. She's making chitchat and resenting Michael. She's keeping her cover and she wants to go home and Billy's handling the rest and Michael's playing backup.

She's talking about art and wondering what could have been.

She's keeping Richard busy and he's making a pass.

She's running and Billy's there.

Now she's standing still and Billy's bleeding on the floor.

The sound of footsteps shatter the stillness and she gasps in fear until she sees Michael. Their eyes meet and the concern is plain there-panic, jealousy, fear.

All she can do is stare back, tears in her eyes she doesn't know how to shed.

Then Michael's eyes tear away, moving to Billy.

"What happened?" Michael asks, breaking the silence.

It takes a moment to find her voice. "Richard made a pass," she manages, eyes trailing after Michael as he goes to Billy's side. "Billy showed up and they fought."

"I heard that much," Michael says, and he's on his knees now, pulling Billy away from the wall. The Scotsman doesn't resist, his body limp as Michael positions him flat on his back.

Fay swallows hard; she'd forgotten about their comm links. "Richard must have been armed," she says, because it's the only thing that makes sense. And even that is pretty hard for her to believe.

Michael grimaces a little, ripping away Billy's shirt to reveal the ragged wound underneath. It's not too big, but it's jagged, cutting a deep gouge just under Billy's ribcage. Dark blood pours from it, spilling across Billy's now exposed stomach with frightening speed.

For a second, Michael doesn't talk. Instead he focuses on ripping a strip from Billy's shirt, fashioning a makeshift bandage, which he presses hard into Billy's side. Billy stirs a little, forehead creasing as he whimpers, but he still doesn't wake.

"What kind of crowd did you exactly hang out with in college?" Michael asks, and when he looks at her, he's not being cruel, but it still hurts all the same.

"I didn't know," she says, and she's aware that she's rambling, her voice pitching slightly. "I didn't think-"

Michael's expression softened. "None of us did," he says. "There's nothing in his file to indicate this."

It's meant as comfort, but it feels cold. Because Billy is still bleeding and Michael's hands are covered with blood and Fay is just standing there, still trying to make sense of _anything_.

Suddenly, Rick skids around the corner. He stops short and gapes. "I came as soon as I could," he says. "No one suspects; the meet is still going down."

Michael nods curtly and barks into his comm. "Is Richard secure?"

Casey's voice echoes back through the secured line. "I just need to know what to do with him," he says. "Son of a bitch was carrying a blade."

"I know," Michael returns grimly, eyes on Billy. "We're going to need a transport to take Billy to the hospital."

Rick has moved closer, but stays clear of Billy's blood, which is still pooling. "What about the meet? Billy didn't have a chance to finish."

Fay blinks. "You mean the mission's not over?" she asks.

They both look at her. "No," Michael says, averting his eyes. "Billy excused himself when we caught wind of what was going on with Richard. I told him to stay put-"

"His position was closer," Rick interjects, and his implication is clear. There's no telling what would have happened between Richard and Fay and a knife.

It's too much to process.

Michael sighs, adjusting his position but keeping his pressure hard on Billy's stomach. "It doesn't matter now," he says, pragmatic as ever. This is the voice he used when the house needed repairs or they'd spent all night arguing. It makes sense here, though. "I need you and Casey to secure Richard and get Billy help. I don't care where we put Richard, I just want him out of the way until this is over."

Rick looks young-younger than Fay thinks he should. She can't believe she made a pass at him his first day on the job. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively. "And what about you?"

Michael's expression is grim but unyielding. "We're going to finish the mission," he says and his eyes move to Fay and stay there. "We're too close now to back out."

Fay wants to protest, but it's too late for that. She's never been a wilting flower when it comes to relationships, but somehow, in this context, she doesn't know how to question. Because Billy is bleeding, Rick looks like he's twelve, and Michael has a plan, and nothing Fay is thinking makes any sense in the face of that.

"Are we understood?" Michael asks and his eyes finally leave Fay, looking at Rick.

Rick nods and blinks. His eyes are wet. "Understood."

And Fay can only think that at least that makes one of them.

-o-

It happens quickly. Michael moves aside and Rick takes over, leaning over Billy with stiff arms as he presses down. The blood is still flowing, still pooling, and Rick looks ashen in comparison.

Michael is on his feet, barking orders into the comm. Casey grumbles his eta and says he'll bring a car around to stash Richard and transport Billy.

Fay's just watching-she's not sure what else to do-and Michael wipes his hands on a handkerchief as he moves up to her.

"We need to move," he says. "Do we know where the nearest bathroom is?"

It's a simple question, but Fay just gapes.

"Fay," he says, looking at her intently. His words are slow and deliberate, his gaze piercing. "We don't have a lot of time. If the meet ends before we have a chance to get back, then everything we came here for is for nothing. Billy's sacrifice is for nothing. We need to finish this."

She shakes her head, struggling to find her voice. "But haven't we already blown the meet?" she asks. She looks at Billy, who looks even paler now. "Billy's the contact."

"Yes, but he's not the only asset in play," Michael reminds her.

She can't help it if she gapes, trying to understand.

"You're Billy's wife," he reminds her, not unkindly but firmly. "We show back up at the meet and convince them that you're the brains behind this operation, not him."

"But I can't-"

"You can," Michael says, cutting her off promptly. "You're smart and you're capable. I know you're a good liar when you want to be."

It's almost an insult, but Fay doesn't know how to feel the hurt and bring up her rage.

"And I'll be right there with you," he continues, and his voice softens, his eyes still meeting hers with a knowing intensity. There's discernment there, but compassion. He's not lying to her. Or if he is, he's not lying to hurt her.

"But how?" Fay asks.

Michael's lips quirk into a sardonic smile. "For many people, marriage can be a contract of convenience and mutual gain," he says. "That doesn't mean that some might still not keep a little extra to themselves on the side."

"You're going to play my lover?" she asks, not sure if she should be appalled by the insinuation that she could be unfaithful or the idea that Michael could hold such ideas inside of him.

"It's not a perfect scenario, but I think we can sell it," Michael says. "We go back, you tell them that you've relieved your husband of his work here and taken this into your own hands. I'm your key financial advisor and I should be able to sling enough numbers and I have access to the right bank accounts to sell this thing. We can make it work."

He is looking at her, _looking at her_. Richard looked at her with want and unyielding desire; Michael's look is no less intense, but instead of demand, there's reassurance. There's promise.

"We can do this," he says again, and she's heard that before. She heard that when they started dating all those years ago. She heard it when they eloped in Paris. She heard it the countless nights they fought. She heard it every day until she left the divorce papers on the kitchen table and didn't come back.

She's stopped believing him. In truth, she's mostly stopped listening. But she hears him this time; she understands.

And she nods, shaky but clear. "Okay," she says, and she can only trust that this time it's not a mistake.

-o-

There's no time to waste. Like most things with Michael, it's an all or nothing, now or never kind of proposition. And, just like their courtship and their marriage, Fay is following along, heart in her throat, too overwhelmed to second guess.

The hardest part is walking away. Rick is still on his knees next to Billy, applying pressure and looking vaguely nauseous. Billy doesn't look better-in fact, he looks like a surreal version of himself, eyes closed and face slack as he bleeds instead of smiles.

She catches a glimpse of Casey coming down the hallway, but Michael doesn't let them slow long enough to see what happens next. They'll take Billy to the hospital, keep Richard secure, maybe coordinate some kind of response with Langley before moving in to backup Michael in the meet.

At least, that's what mission protocol would dictate. She can see the report in her mind. All typed up, neat and simple.

As she and Michael run down the hall, crashing into the nearest bathroom, it's anything but simple. Michael washes his hands at the sink, blotting at a dark patch on his jacket with a scowl. When he's done, he looks at himself in the mirror.

These are the details that are glossed over in reports. The parts Michael left out of his stories about missions when they were married.

She understands why. There's no way to explain it. No way to understand it unless you're there.

And Fay is there. She's reminded of that fact painfully when Michael's eyes meet hers in the mirror. "No turning back," he says to her.

Fay's terrified. She's having all sorts of second doubts. But she steels herself, fights back the feeling in her stomach and nods. "Then let's do this."

-o-

Walking away is the hardest part. Walking into a meet to sell illicit uranium, by contrast, is surprisingly easy.

Michael leads them to the location, but it's Fay who walks inside. She can still hear Billy's voice, telling her to put it all aside and get the job done.

There's no room for fear here. No room for doubts or personal misgivings. Just the job.

Just the mission.

Head high, she strides in, Michael a step behind her. The men in the room stiffen immediately, hands going to their hips in a move she knows is for the weaponry they have no-so-subtly hidden. They will shoot intruders-she knows this-but one look at her gives them reason to hesitate.

Fay smirks. "Hello, boys," she says smoothly, tilting her head slightly.

The man seated closest to her is familiar. He frowns. "Fay Carson?"

Fay looks at him. "Lucas, how good to see you," she says. "Richard said you would be by, though I think it's rather rude that you didn't seek me out for a brief reintroduction."

Lucas' forehead furrows and the rest of the men look uncertainly on. Swallowing, Lucas forces a smile. "Just some business to attend to," he says. "I believe I was talking to your husband-"

"You were," she says. "And now you'll be talking to me."

Lucas shakes his head. "I don't think-"

She scoffs. "That's always been your problem," she says. "Ever since undergraduate poly sci. You just don't think."

He looks almost dumbfounded now and Fay figures it's time to drive it home.

"My husband puts on airs because we all know how much of a boys club these things are," she says. "But the fact is, our entire fortune is built upon my prowess in business and international politics-not his."

Lucas looks away, meeting the eyes of his dealers with some uncertainty. They seem to yield to him, trusting in his judgment, which is just one mistake of many for them, as far as Fay is concerned.

"I don't think you know what you're getting into," Lucas says, sounding a little bemused.

Fay's smile is cold. "You'd like to hope," she says. "But if any number of international agencies were aware of the shipment you boys are trying to negotiate here, then we all know just how much trouble you'd be in."

Lucas stiffens. One of the other men seems to reach for his gun.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not here to bust you," she says. "I'm here for the same reason my husband was. To get a piece of the action."

"And so who is he?" Lucas ask, glancing skeptically at Michael.

Fay quirks an eyebrow and looks vaguely at Michael. "My lead financial advisor," she says. "He can be quite persuasive with numbers."

The men all share another look.

Fay sighs and moves forward, taking a seat primly and purposefully crossing her legs. Michael follows a step behind, lingering just at her side. "I realize the change in contact is disconcerting," she says. Then she smiles, leaning forward seductively. "But surely it's not all bad having a little girl power in the room to help loosen the mood. These kinds of transactions are always so stressful."

One of the men looks ready to bolt. He's shaking his head.

Fay glances at Michael, nodding. "If my feminine persuasion still has you doubting, maybe consider the financial backing we can contribute."

Michael produces a laptop and puts it on the table. A few quick keystrokes and he turns it around.

The men huddle forward slightly, almost skeptically. Then their eyes go a little wide.

Fay smiles again. "So let's start talking, boys," she says. "And see where that takes us."

-o-

It works.

After several minutes, she has the men laughing. After an hour, their dealings are done and Fay shakes hands with criminals and walks out with Michael at her side. She doesn't look back-doesn't dare look back-and as they approach the exit, she asks, "Is that it?"

Michael presses closer to her, voice low and hushed. "One call, and we'll have them tailed. When they go to pick up the uranium, the French will be there to make the bust."

Fay nods, swallowing with effort. "So that's it?" she asks again, more needy this time.

Michael's hand rests on her waist as they move forward in tandem. "That's it," he says.

And just like that, Fay remembers how to breathe.

-o-

Getting in took planning and preparation. Getting out requires walking out the front door. Michael hasn't even cleared the entrance when he's on the phone, with details and specs for the French to follow.

Outside, the air is cool and the night is clear. Fay stands under the stars and looks up, trying to orient herself. But there's nothing there but stars amid the blackness, and the twinkling lights seem farther than they ever have before.

Michael comes up close to her. "The French are in position," he says. "It won't be long."

"And Richard?" she asks.

"Secure," he says. "Once the French have the uranium, our friend Luc has agreed to take him into custody under charges of assault. They'll make sure he doesn't know anything about what really happened before putting him into the system."

Fay nods, her sense of control slipping. She takes a ragged breath, the reality of the risk she just took catching up to her. "And Billy?" she asks.

Michael's face remains impassive for the most part, but she sees the flicker of fear he's trying to hide. "I haven't called Casey and Rick," he admits. "But he'll be okay."

She laughs, rubbing her arms in the cool. "For someone who is such a good spy, you're kind of a bad liar."

He stays still, staying where he is. "Lying is easy when you don't care about the other person," he says.

Her eyes are stinging inexplicably and her throat is tight. She shakes her head. "And so why is telling the truth so much harder?"

"Because the truth is rarely easy," he says, stepping closer. "Usually it's harder than it should be. Harder than I want it to be."

"You want to protect me?" she asks. "In our marriage, you wanted to protect me then?"

"I just never wanted you to know," he says, shaking his head. "You read the reports, but you don't know. You shouldn't have to know."

But Fay does know now. Because the truth is in the lies and the lies hold truth and Fay's standing in Paris with Michael and the mission's done but nothing is over.

Nothing that matters, anyway.

And she thinks of how much she misses this place and she thinks of Richard's advances. She thinks of someone she trusted but shouldn't have. She thinks of a life she'd thought she wanted but hadn't really understood at all. She thinks of Billy's blood and the trusting look on the men's faces as she led them step by step to their own demise. She thinks about Michael, standing there, lying and telling the truth, and suddenly it's too much.

This isn't what she wanted in her life. This isn't what she thought she'd have at all. Even the alternatives, the what-if's are taken from her now. She'd held up Paris as the ultimate possibility, but Richard has taken that from her with a forceful, drunken pass and left her with nothing.

This was her dream, and now it's her nightmare. The reality is overwhelming as she tries to understand just what happened to her tonight. Richard didn't get his way, but he still managed to take more than Fay had been willing to surrender. If not her body, then her will and mind, and she doesn't know how to get it back.

She doesn't know if she can.

Turning away, her back curves with the first sob that she tries to stifle. The second is harder to keep in and when Michael's arms are around her, she gives in entirely and lets herself cry for the first time in years.

-o-

When they get to the hospital, Michael's suit jacket is draped over her shoulders. She's still shivering, though, when Michael parks their car and leads her inside. It occurs to her as she climbs out that she doesn't know where the car came from, but it's an easy question to forget once they get inside.

It's bright, with glaring artificial light. This time, she trails behind Michael, following him as he approaches the desk and gets directions.

His steps are quick and purposeful, and she finds herself struggling to keep up. Her heels click against the tile and she is suddenly aware of how conspicuous she must look in her evening gown. She's spent this entire mission trying to blend in, but it's painfully clear to her now how impossible that really is.

She doesn't belong here. Not in Paris, not in the field. Not with this team, not with Michael.

And yet, she's still here. And she doesn't know where else to be. Where else she wants to be.

Michael leads her to another waiting room and she sees Rick, pacing. His face is taut, hands shifting restless from his pockets to his sides in uncertain intervals. Casey is seated behind him, still and stoic.

When Rick sees them approach, he stops mid-pace and he looks tired. For a second, he and Michael share a look before Rick swallows. "He's in surgery," he says. "The worst of it hit his lung, and they're not sure about one of his kidneys. It might have also hit part of his liver."

Michael doesn't flinch at the news and Casey seems to sigh.

Fay blinks. "What's his prognosis?" she asks, because it seems like no one else is going to.

Rick looks at her, as if he's almost forgotten that she's there. "They won't know until they get in there to see the extent of the bleeding," he says. "His blood volume was really low when we got here, though, so it's been touch and go."

"He was stabbed in the chest," Casey grunts from his seat. "All things considered, the fact that we got him here without having him bleed out entirely is nothing short of a miracle."

It's a bluntness she expects from Casey, but she's always been inclined to attribute some of his demeanor to exaggeration. This time, Fay knows otherwise and the reality of it makes her shudder.

"And Richard?" Michael asks.

"Hog tied and sedated in the van," Casey reports.

"We already talked to Luc," Rick adds. "They're looking to bust the dealers on the uranium within the hours and they'll pick up Richard after that."

Michael nods. "And the ETA on Billy?"

Rick's face falls further; he doesn't seem to have the heart to answer.

Even Casey looks down, rubbing his hands absently together. "Could be hours," he says, head still ducked. He looks up and there's a vulnerability in his eyes that Fay doesn't quite recognize. "Hard to say."

Michael takes the news with a nod. He's calm when he sits down, sinking into the seat with resignation and determination all at once.

Fay just stares. At Michael, at Casey, at Rick. "That's it?" she asks.

Rick looks at her nervously. Casey's expression is banal. Michael shrugs. "Sometimes that's what field work is," he says. "Waiting."

Fay stares, incredulous, but Michael doesn't move and Casey looks away. Rick starts pacing and Fay realizes she has no choice but to acquiesce.

-o-

Back at Langley, Fay spends a lot of her time in her office, poring over files and putting together notes for briefings. It's a tedious and meticulous job-one that she's good at. Over the years, she's flourished in it, adept at sorting out the minor points to put together a case for something bigger, something better.

And as she sits in a hospital waiting room in Paris, none of it seems to matter. There are so many pieces she's missed, so many details that she never saw as relevant before but seem to make all the difference now.

Richard's dark side is still a stark surprise to her; she'd never suspected, not for a moment. Her own naivete has nearly cost her everything-it still could cost Billy everything. She thinks back, thinks of any clues or hints, and she comes up blank. She's never wanted to play the victim, but she almost became one against her will.

It's an unsettling revelation that makes her feel sick to her stomach. And she has to wonder, if she missed so much about Richard, what else has she been wrong about? What assumptions does she operate on that have faulty intel at their core? How long has she spent trying to protect herself from the wrong things? What misconceptions is she harboring about her life, herself? The CIA? The ODS? And what is the cost of those wrongs? What price will she pay for holding onto them?

As she struggles to find some truth among the mess, she watches the ODS. She watches them to understanding something, _anything._

She watches Casey, hardly moving in his seat. He's still and stiff, a rigid composition that is designed to suggest indifference but it's all a carefully composed facade. He's terrified inside, a dark, jittery fear that would take him over if he let himself move even an inch. Casey has never been approachable, so she's never tried, but it's not that he's too good for the rest of them; it's that he's too worried of letting himself show any weakness for fear of losing everything. He's lost people before, Fay sees now. He's probably lost more than the rest of them and he carries that guilt, that hurt with him in a way that she never let herself see.

Rick doesn't know how to hold it in-he still wears it on his face, clearly in his eyes. This is still unknown territory for him. He stands and sits in equal turns, hands in his pockets, at his sides, across his chest. He's worked hard to get here, built his life on dreams and ideals. He believes the credos and the clichés, not because he's naive, but because he's still pure. This place, this job, this life hasn't broken him-not like the rest of them. Not like her. He's the only one who believes this can't go wrong. He's the only one who has to believe that Billy can't die. He doesn't know failure yet. It's the last lesson he has to grasp before he's just like the rest of them.

It's a lesson Michael knows well. Maybe not as well as Casey, but it's a lesson he's internalize. Casey refuses to acknowledge his failure; Michael refuses to let his go. Michael believes the weight of the mission is on his shoulders-and for the first time Fay realizes that maybe it is. Because it's Michael who sees all the outcomes. Michael who sees what might be and accepts those risks, no matter what. Michael who gives the orders, who makes the decisions of life or death that the rest willingly oblige themselves to. Michael plans and works and labors not just for his country, but to bring his team back alive.

And yet, he's not surprised. He sits in the chair, body bent. His elbows rest on his knees and he props his head up on his chin as he looks out and waits. He's not sure what news the doctor will bring. He's gauging it all, the best case scenario and the worst. He's preparing to hear that Billy's alive and fine, that he's going home soon. He's preparing to hear that Billy didn't make it, that they're going home with a coffin instead of a friend.

Fay watches them, apart and separate. They each exist within their own space but are defined by one another. Casey looks at Michael in the corner of his gaze; Rick pauses in front of them both when he paces. It's a silent communication, one she's not sure they even realize. But they need each other, and Fay can see that now. They need each other to get through this mission.

This is why the ODS is good at what they do. It's not their assets or their contacts. It's not their skills or their experience. It's _this_, the bond, the connection.

Because for as much as she can see them all, she can see what they're missing. She can see how Billy should be there and isn't. She can see how his absence breaks them, brings them to their knees.

Fay's been out of place this entire mission, but she's never felt it like she does now. She's never known it like she does now.

It's funny, because she's resented this team. Respected their skills, but hated the way they do it. She's thought them to be cocky and arrogant, unnecessarily risky and difficult.

But they're just a team. Four partners-four friends-whose loyalties are more than protocol and whose aims extend beyond the flag.

And Fay understands. For the first time in a long time, she really understands. 

-o-

Night gives way to morning. The dark goes without a struggle, and the daylight seems harsh. Fay's back is stiff from sitting, and her shoes are beginning to hurt her feet. The edges of her dress have grated on the skin under her arms and she's feeling the strain of no sleep and too much stress.

She starts to nod off sitting up, her head dipping forward intermittently as she loses the fight to stay awake. After awhile, she wakes up to find herself slumped against Michael.

Sitting up, Fay feels suddenly very awkward. She swallows uncomfortably and tries to get her bearings.

"What time is it?" she asks.

Michael glances at her. "About seven AM."

Fay nods, blinking away the sleep. She looks around and notices that Rick and Casey are gone.

"I made them go get breakfast," Michael explains. "It'll be their only chance before we hear something."

Michael doesn't explain it more than that, but he doesn't really have to. He wants his team rested and fed to cope with whatever may come. If it's more hours by Billy's bedside or dealing with the aftermath of his death, none of them are sure, and none of them want to say.

Breathing out, she tries to collect herself. She shifts in her seat and tries not to feel any more out of place than she already does. Then she turns her attention to Michael, who hasn't moved in his seat, still slumped wearily.

Smiling sadly, she inches closer to him. "So what about you?"

Michael lifts his eyebrows. "What about me?"

"You don't need food and rest?" she asks.

He shrugs, making a face.

Fay rolls her eyes. "Ever the martyr," she muses.

His look in return is tired. "They needed it more than I did," he says. "Besides, you looked too comfortable to disturb."

Normally, she might make a quip about how that would be a first. Might mention how in all their years of marriage, she'd never been first on his list of anything. But it's not the time for that, and right now, she's not even sure her assessment is totally accurate anymore.

Because it is true that Michael was a less than perfect husband. He was gone all the time and he was always evasive about work. He forgot about dates and neglected plans they'd made. He once forfeited their anniversary and never even apologized.

But...

She's never seen it like she does now. She's never seen him in the field, making the tough decisions for the well being of his team. He's never seen him take charge of a situation to get the mission done while saving lives. He's never seen the way he carries this weight, never even understood the way it holds on him at all.

The ODS isn't just a job for Michael, not like her job at Langley is a time-consuming paycheck for Fay. It's more than that for Michael. It's his entire life-everything he has is invested in the field and the men he serves with. It makes him seem cruel sometimes; it makes him impossible the rest of the time. But when the lie is the difference between life and death and he's making decisions with blood on his hands, maybe that's easier to understand.

Pressing her lips together, she shakes her head. "I waited years to hear that."

Michael's smile is rueful. "Was it everything you hoped for?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "Not exactly."

Michael sighs. "I never could win with you."

"Well you have to admit, you weren't the greatest husband," she points out.

He looks sheepish. "I suppose not."

"But you weren't the worst, either," she amends quickly, because she has to. Sighing, she looks at the ceiling for a moment and tries to understand all the things she's feeling. All the new and conflicting emotions that she can't make parse. "You know, I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to hurt all of you. You and your team-you put me through such hell during our marriage and I wanted you to feel what I did. I wanted you to feel miserable and alone and frustrated and-" She breaks off, shaking her head. "I just never-I mean, I never-"

Her voice is choked off and tears are stinging at her eyes. She's too tired for this and her emotions have been strained past the point of control. "I just never knew-"

She has more to say-there's so much more to say. Things about what it felt like to be at home alone, things about what it felt like to be lying side by side with him in the field. Things about Billy's sacrifice for her, the way the team accepted her without question into the mission. And despite all her years of preaching about open communication, the reality of this mission makes her throat close up and her chest feel tight.

Michael stays still, moving his hand gently to her arm. When he touches her, she wants to flinch, but the touch is so familiar that she doesn't. "Hey," he says, and it's not much. It's not anything and normally Fay would ream him out for being oblivious and reserved.

But this time, it's all he has to say. All there is to say. Fay feels herself breaking and there's no place safer than Michael's arms. As she crumbles, he doesn't move, and his arms around her are steady and unwavering as she starts to cry.

"I know," he says, the words quiet and soothing. "And you were right to be angry. You're still right to be angry. I never wanted you to see this. I wanted to explain it, but I didn't want you to know it like this."

It's just like Michael, to protect her in this way. To be the best person in the world for her while also being the worst. If she didn't hate him so much for hurting her, she'd have to admit she loved him more than ever, but she doesn't know how to say that any more than she knows how to say anything else.

During their divorce, they had yelled and raged. During marriage counseling, they had argued and blamed. She and Michael had always talked-never stopped talking-about the things that were going wrong, about the things that weren't right between them.

This time, there are no words left. There's nothing left, just the two of them, and it's just like it was at the start. Back when they hadn't needed words, when they didn't need to explain. When reason and logic and common sense didn't matter. When all they needed was each other.

It's different now, but still the same. Maybe it's always been the same, but maybe Fay just needed the right lies and the right truth to finally see it after all.

-o-

The team seems to know when Billy's out of surgery. Michael straightens up, tapping his foot and checking his watch. Casey and Rick show back up and sit next to Michael, perched in identical poses of expectancy as they stare down the hallway at nothing.

It'd be almost amusing in any other context. They look like quite the motley bunch with rumpled clothes and ragged faces. But their waiting pays off, and Fay's the only one completely caught off guard when the doctor comes to talk to them.

The doctor is a woman, a few years older than Fay but just as weary, and she speaks proper English with a thick accent. "Your friend is still quite ill," she starts off with a restrained smile, "but he is still alive."

Fay takes a breath but doesn't let it out. The rest of the ODS doesn't seem to move.

"Surgery was longer than expected due to the placement of the blade," the doctor explains. She motions to her chest. "Though it was not a large wound, it did cause significant damage to several internal organs. We are treating the puncture to his lung with a chest tube, and we expect no further complications from that. We have to continue to watch his renal output; while we did save his kidney, it is unclear to us if it will regain full function or not. He also did damage to his liver, and we removed a small portion while we contained other bleeds in the upper abdominal cavity."

It's the kind of thing Fay might read in a report. The basic facts she'd leave in a briefing for Higgins. The cold delineation of facts, the plain truths without any softness or context. But Fay remembers that this is a person they're talking about-this is Billy. This is the man who came to her aid at the expense of the mission and without regard to his own personal well being. It's not just about a lung or a kidney or a missing part of a liver. It's about life and death and blood and so much more.

For as much trouble as Fay has making sense of it, the rest of the team seems to take the news stoically. Michael just nods and asks, "When can we see him?"

The doctor smiles lightly. "Soon," she says. "But one at a time, please. And I must ask you to keep a proper reserve. Your friend is still in very precarious health."

At that, Fay almost wants to laugh. As if the ODS needs to be warned to keep one of their own safe.

No one else seems to think it's funny, though. Which is probably right because when Fay tries to laugh, her voice gets stuck in her throat and her chest hurts.

It seems wrong in so many ways. That the truth doesn't hurt less than the lie, that as she's faced with the plain and simple facts, she misses the ambiguity of not knowing for sure.

But it's just like she always told Michael during the difficult patches in their marriage and divorce: truth is not negotiable, and it's not supposed to be easy.

For once, Fay hates being right.

-o-

It's like the mission is never-ending. The team communicates with each other implicitly, organizing and taking turns. Within a few short minutes, they've divvied up the tasks to be done, sending Casey to get a hotel room while Rick stops down at the cafeteria to eat again. Fay is ready to stay with Michael, who has promised to take first watch with Billy, but he sends her back with Casey instead to get some real sleep.

Fay is used to following a chain of command, but in her experience, that's always harder when Michael's the one giving the orders. Still, she is suddenly aware of how exhausted she is, and by the time Casey gets them two rooms to share between the four of them, she's already crashed on top of the covers and is sound asleep.

She doesn't dream-doesn't even move. When she wakes up hours later, she's still sprawled over the covers with a crick in her neck and a dry taste in her mouth. When she goes to the next room, Rick is there along with an assortment of food from the vending machine. After eating something and changing her clothes to the mix-matched ensemble that someone procured for her, she has Rick take her back to the hospital.

When he hesitates, she pins him with a look. It's complicated with Michael, but Rick is still green enough that her glares have the desired effect.

Back at the hospital, they find Michael in the waiting room. If he's surprised to see her, he doesn't show it. "You want to sit with him?" he asks.

Fay inclines her head. "He is here because of me."

"He's here because of the mission," Michael amends gently.

With the rest and the food, Fay finds her will asserting itself once again. Yesterday, Richard almost took that from her; today, she won't let that happen. "You can mince words all you want," she says pointedly. "But you know how it is."

For a moment, Michael doesn't respond. But then he nods. "Okay," he says. "Fay has next watch."

-o-

When she relieves Casey, the older operative doesn't say much. He explains that Billy's still in a bad way-so hopped up on drugs that he's not even twitching-but that he's still holding his own. The encouragement isn't so much for her, though; it's for him, so Fay accepts it with a grateful smile.

Her confidence wavers, however, when she's finally alone with Billy. At first, all she can see is the room-the space is crowded with machines and tools, mostly things she doesn't recognize. It's all intimidating, intricate tubing and bags hanging with liquids she doesn't want to identify.

In all of it, she finally sees Billy, whose tall frame is dwarfed by it all. His eyes are shut, face slack, but the tube down his throat is a harsh reminder of all that is still wrong. His arms have been hastily arranged at his sides and his hair is matted oddly to the side. The stubble on his face seems more prominent with the paleness of his features, and Fay doesn't know quite what to make of it.

It doesn't seem right. The ODS is always an object in motion. That's why Higgins hates them as much as he does-he can't predict them and he can't rein them in. They're perpetually plotting and planning, moving and subverting. So to see Billy so still-it's just hard to make sense of.

Because he's here because of her. No one blames her-not even Billy-and she knows that. But Fay also knows what happened. She knows that she never wanted to be on this mission and that the ODS had been there for her every step of the way. She knows all her dreams and uncertainties seem like moot points because she doesn't want them at the expense of anyone else.

But that's not how it works. The thing with the ODS is that each one is willing to give himself up for the others. There's no hesitation, no doubts. What they want in life doesn't matter. It's a bond that's deeper than friendship, more powerful than mere teammates. That's what separates them from people like Richard, and it's something she's never recognized before, but something she knows now.

Fay knows now.

She knows that a good man isn't so easy to define. Some people can look and talk the part, but underneath, they're only in it for themselves. Other people-people like the men in the ODS-can defy the stereotype, can lie and hurt and frustrate, but ultimately they're the ones who will always do what's right, even at their own sacrifice and peril.

She just knows.

Watching Billy, she knows what it means not just to be a spy, but to be a part of something that matters. It asks for everything you have-from free time to life goals to personal relationships. Because Billy didn't just put his life on the line for the mission-he put it on the line for her. They all did.

There's nothing she can do about that, nothing she can do to earn it or make it fair or right.

There's nothing at all, as Fay settles in next to Billy's bed, except the pressing need to do the same for them.

-o-

Fay loses track of time. It's easy to do; the hum of machines is the only metronome she has, ticking by the seconds that she waits in hope of seeing some kind of progress, some kind of change. Billy is still, for better and for worse, his haggard face etched into her mind with a clarity she knows will never fade.

When Michael comes in some time later, Fay is neither surprised nor expectant. She knows he still hasn't left the hospital-won't leave, no matter what he tells the others. She suspects he's spent some of his time on the phone-clearing things with Higgins, crossing his t's and dotting his i's-because Michael doesn't believe in the proper order of things unless it's for the betterment of his team.

In truth, the thing that probably surprises Fay the most is that he's waited this long to come in at all. Not just for Billy's sake, but for hers.

Still, he smiles. His eyes are tired, worried, but they still light up when he sees her. "Hey," he says, voice soft and measured amid the buzzing of the machines.

Pressing her lips together, Fay manages to smile back. "No change," she reports dutifully, because it seems like the right thing to say, the proper way to pass this torch, this burden. She looks at Billy again, and it doesn't seem like enough. "He looks so still."

Michael moves closer, lingering by her side. He almost touches her, but doesn't, and keeps his eyes on Billy. "He's a fighter," he says.

It's a cliché, of course, and one of the worst Fay's ever heard. But coming from Michael, at a time like this, it occurs to her that he really means it.

And, looking at Billy still, she can see why. "It still doesn't seem right," she says.

"Spying is dangerous work," Michael says. "You know that."

Fay's gaze lingers; she nods. "I know, but..."

But it's not the same.

This isn't the same.

She gathers a breath and lets it out. "He compromised the mission for me," she says. "If he had stuck to the plan..."

Then the mission would have been over sooner and there's no telling what exactly would have happened to Fay. If she could have gotten out, if Michael or Casey or Rick could have gotten into position on time.

"Missions are more than the reports we file," Michael explains. "Our first goal is always the safety of those we serve with. Always."

He speaks without hesitation, with total resolve.

Fay has to laugh, a short, bitter bark. To think, she'd been right about this, too. That she had always been second in the marriage, that Michael had always put the team first. She remembers the fights she railed about it, how angry she'd been. How she'd told him to go sleep with his team members, since they were the ones who mattered most.

But it's not the selfishness Fay thought it was. It's not even Michael being stupid or insensitive. It's survival. It's the difference between tragedy and success; the sharp separation between safety and compromise.

She nods again, eyes still on Billy, feeling the weight of his sacrifice and knowing why Michael could never shirk this responsibility, even if he wanted to. "At least I get it now."

"Get what?"

It's a genuine question, and Fay looks up at Michael. "Why I could never be the most important thing in your life."

There's a flicker of hurt in Michael's eyes, followed closely by a deep regret that he doesn't try to hide. "It wasn't like that."

She just smiles. "Yeah," she replies. "It was. It had to be. I mean, the things you do out in the field-the risks you take for each other to make sure you all come home-I never understood it."

"I was stupid," Michael interjects with a clarity that is surprising. "Selfish. I took you for granted."

These are the things she's wanted to hear. The things she's gone over in her head, accused him of, ranted about. But now that he's saying them, now that he's saying there _here_, she has to reconsider them altogether. Because Michael was a bad husband because he was a good agent. Michael was a bad life partner because she'd only seen glimpses of his life, a life she could never understand, a life she wanted no part of.

"Yeah, well," she says finally. Her lips quirk into a sardonic smile. "The same goes for me."

He watches her for a second, their eyes meeting in understanding. It didn't forgive everything; it didn't make it hurt less. But somehow, it's easier to let go. Easier to accept. Just easier.

They stay like that for several second, Michael close enough to touch her, but neither bridging that last distance between them. They've been there before and no matter what's changed, Fay suspects it's still not enough to make that distance seem any less.

Getting to her feet, she pauses, smiles. She looks down at Billy, still unconscious on the bed before looking back at Michael again. She doesn't need to leave in a huff, but she still needs to leave, and not just for her. Because she knows that while Michael is there for her, he's also there for Billy and she can't begrudge either of them that comfort.

With a small smile, she ducks her head and makes her way out of the room. Michael doesn't stop her.

She's almost to the elevators when she realizes that for the first time, she's okay with that.

-o-

She doesn't go back to the hotel. Fay knows it's probably not the safest option, but the team is too preoccupied to stop her. Instead, she goes for a walk, winding through the parts of Paris she knows best, the streets she still misses. She stops in the shops from her college days, lingering at the cafes where she ate with Michael on their honeymoon. She wanders and remembers.

It's funny, because she started this to stop uranium from getting into the wrong hands. That's still important, but then again, it's really not. Because there's always going to be another shipment of uranium. There will probably always be terrorists. There will always be another important mission for the CIA to complete for the betterment of the country.

The ODS might not always be around, especially if Higgins has his way. Michael, Casey, Billy, and Rick might not always be around because they throw themselves into missions-not blindly, but without second thoughts. They take risks because no one else will.

Fay spent years being angry at Michael for trying to control her life, for trying to arrange the details without even having the consideration of putting her feelings and opinions first. Michael controls because he's afraid. He puts the team first because their lives depend on it.

He isn't perfect, of course, but then again, nothing really is. Her life in Virginia has its pitfalls and pains, but a life in Paris-the path she didn't take-is no guarantee of anything better. At least, this way, she can trust the people around her with her safety. Here, she's not sure who she can trust at all anymore.

Back at the hotel, Rick is waiting for her. He tries to look nonchalant, but it's clear he's been keeping tabs on her. Two days ago, this might have frustrated her, maybe even surprised her, but today she just smiles at Rick, nodding at him as she walks past to the room. For once, it doesn't seem like paranoia, and maybe she appreciates that someone cares enough to watch her back.

Sleep is long in coming as she stares at the ceiling. When she finally does sleep, it's cold and empty. When she wakes up, it seems like only seconds have past but looking at the clock, she sees that it's been hours.

This time, Michael is in the next room. He's staring at the door as if he's expecting her.

She frowns, uncertain.

Michael smiles. Not a polite smile; not a strained, reserved smile. A real one.

Her inhibitions falter. "Billy?" she asks.

Michael nods. "He's awake," he says. "Still pretty out of it, but the doctors are optimistic. He's okay."

She stares at him, trying to believe it.

"He's okay," Michael says again.

It's almost too simple, too easy to be true. But if Michael's a liar about the details, then he's fastidious about the big things. He may tell her that it wasn't him trailing her on her way home from work when it really was, but when he says that he just wants her to be safe, that much is inarguable. He may tell her that their anniversary card got lost in the mail and it's nothing but sheer fabrication, but when he says that he never regrets marrying her, it's the most vibrant truth she knows.

Michael manipulates the details, control and lies and coerces, to keep the big picture intact.

Billy's got a long way to go-she's sure of that, just like she's sure they all have a journey ahead of them-but when Michael says he's okay, she knows not to doubt it.

Fay knows.

-o-

The next day is a whirlwind. Billy is awake and he is okay, but from Fay's brief visits, it's clear he's far from recovered. He manages to answer questions and smile when he's awake, but those times are fleeting as he lapses in and out of sleep at seemingly random intervals. It's a far cry from his normal vibrancy, but Fay understands the truth in Michael's declaration. Because Billy's eyes are tired and cloudy from the extent of his injuries and the drugs being used to treat him, but there's still a twinkle in them that Fay trusts and recognizes.

Within a few days, Billy is upgraded to a regular room and visiting hours are more flexible. He's still asleep more than he is awake, and watching him try to shift in bed is a painful process for everyone, no matter how much he tries to hide it. The rest of the team still takes shifts, but everyone is better fed and showered now, as life seems to resume some semblance of normal.

Normal for spies, anyway. For Fay, it's still a bit surreal. She's in Paris, just like she's always dreamed about, and while there's good food and laughter now, she's with her ex-husband and his teammates, winding down a mission that none of them have talked about in days. She can only imagine that Higgins is itching to get them home, not necessarily out of concern for his agents, but for the hotel and food bills they are surely racking up at the government's expense.

Luc, who Fay recognizes in name only from the ODS' last mission in Paris, stops by to inform them of how successful the bust was. The uranium is off the black market and the potential leads from the people snatched in the bust are impressive. She doesn't feel bad that Lucas will be going to prison, and she certainly doesn't feel bad that Richard has been charged with conspiracy and various sundry charges for his peripheral involvement. It's not a straight up harassment charge, but Fay understands that in order for their work here to be successful in the long term, they need to maintain a low profile, even if it means not calling Richard out on being the scum bag that he is.

With this, she figures Higgins must be happy enough to endure the lingering costs of the ODS being overseas. And no matter how much the man distrusts the ODS, he's not one to begrudge agents who make sacrifices in the field, and Fay knows Michael well enough to know that's a card he's played to explain why none of them are on a plane home just yet.

Still, the comfortable camaraderie makes it easy to forget such practicalities. She remembers being on the other side, the morning briefings with Higgins when she had to cautiously explain that the ODS wasn't home yet and she didn't know their ETA because Michael kept giving her the run around. She even remembers waiting for Michael during their marriage, marking days off on the calendar past his date of estimated return, hoping for more than a voicemail to tide her over until he got back.

It had always seemed frivolous at the time, but it's a healing process for all of them. Billy is still weak and pale, and the others seem to gravitate toward him, to buoy him up as much as themselves. It'd be wrong for any of them to leave. They came into this together; they'll leave together. It's as simple as that.

Fay falls into routine with them as best she can. They seem to accept her without a word; it's as if she's earned her place with them. For years, she's resented them. Now she feels like part of them.

It's nearly a week after the mission when Billy is finally starting to be alert enough to maintain normal conversation. The doctors are impressed with his recovery; his body is bouncing back faster than they anticipate. There's talk of transferring him back to the States within a week or two, though despite all the optimism, Fay knows that the Scotsman still has some extensive recovery time ahead of him.

But that kind of things are details for reports, not for the ODS in the field. This is why she smiles with the rest of them, making jokes and small talk as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

That doesn't stop her from feeling guilty, of course. During her shift, Billy has just come back from a therapy session, which has left him visibly tired. His face is drawn with pain; his color still isn't what it used to be and no matter how hard he tries to hide it, exhaustion is wearing him thin.

When he's settled, Fay says, "So it looks like they're working you pretty hard in the therapy."

Billy makes a face, waving one hand dismissively. "I just like to give them a challenge," he says. "If I woke up jumping through hoops, the poor physical therapy department would feel rather neglected."

Fay rolls her eyes slightly. "I'm sure that's it."

Billy manages an impish grin. "Truth is more often a matter of perception than concrete reality," he tells her knowingly.

She nods at that and tries to brush away her unease. It's hard, though. She can still see Billy's blood on the floor, his slack features. "You just have to believe your own lies, right?" she remembers, smiling vaguely. "Put everything aside and do what needs to be done."

Billy looks mildly impressed that she remembers. He nods in approval. "So I see you did take my inspirational pre-mission speech to heart," he says. "That's quite reassuring; with the rest of the team, sometimes I feel like my sage kernels of wisdom fall on increasingly deaf ears."

"Well, you certainly saved my life," she says. "In more ways than one."

He shakes his head. "All in the line of duty."

"No, you risked the mission for me," she insists.

"You make it sound so melodramatic," he says.

She scoffs. "It felt pretty melodramatic."

"For someone with little field experience, I can see why you'd think that," he tells her. "But I assure you, my actions were entirely keeping with my duties to the team."

This is true, Fay has figured out by now, but still doesn't change her gratitude. And yet, she's not quite sure what more to say, how to bridge this silence. Billy isn't looking for a thank you; he's not even looking for her gratitude anymore than the rest seem to be looking for an apology.

It's an awkward silence that lingers, but Billy seems to take pity on her. "Besides, I'm sure it'll all provide for a rollicking report for the director to read," he says, eyes twinkling slightly.

At that, she laughs. "It should be one of my more interesting ones."

"I should say so," Billy says. "Undercover in Paris! Taking down international criminals and protecting countless lives in America and abroad."

He says it with such conviction and enthusiasm that it is hard to doubt him.

But it's still so hard to let the rest of it go. Because it is as simple as Billy says and yet it's not. "So, that's it, then," Fay says, shrugging her shoulders as she tries to understand. "We just go home, job well done, and move on?"

"What more were you looking for?" he asks, and he seems genuinely curious.

"I don't know, closure?" she asks. "Something to make it feel like it's really over, that it was all really worth it."

Billy's expression softens in sympathy. "It always sounds more impressive in reports, I know," he says. "When you can tally the details and see the overall strategic gains."

"But it's harder in the field," she says. "I know we kept the uranium safe and brought criminals to justice, but..."

"But it doesn't seem like enough," Billy concludes.

She presses her mouth together.

Billy collects a breath and looks at her evenly. "Each mission is important, for all the reasons you can surely delineate," he says. "But real success isn't so much pleasing the director or even protecting national security for another day."

"So what is it?" Fay dares to venture.

"Coming home," he says. "Coming home with your teammates and living to fight another day. When you're back amongst all that is good and simple, you're reminded why you do what you do. Why the sacrifices are worth it."

He's right, of course. Just like he's been right about most of it.

Softly, he continues, "You know, I understand that the time Michael spent with you was difficult. I can't imagine he was much of a husband with the hours he kept and the way he could jet off at a moment's notice, much less how he needs to micromanage every detail."

The memory makes her smile ruefully.

"But those years were Michael's best," Billy says, and he's earnest about this. "Having someone to come home to, having someone worth fighting for on the other side-it made all the difference. We've always been self-sacrificial bastards for one another, but for that time, Michael was more focused, more intent, and more devoted than ever. Because every mission was about getting back to you."

In the past, she would doubt him. She would tell him that he didn't know anything about their marriage or who they had been together.

But Billy's right. That shouldn't surprise her, but Fay's still new at this sort of thing. "You know," she says, shifting in her seat and shaking her head. "What's so funny about this entire thing is that the more I lied to other people, the more truth I learned about myself."

Billy winces. "An unpleasant side effect," he agrees. "It gets easier to deal with over time."

"What if you don't want it to?"

Billy smiles. "In the end, it's still about survival," he says. "You have to protect your soul just as readily as your life, and for any spy both are always in mortal peril."

"And it's worth it?" Fay asks.

"The uranium is secure. My friends are safe. And you are standing, perfect and lovely before me," Billy says with a confidence that belies his still weak condition. He nods. "It's worth it."

And in everything, for Fay, that may be the truth that matters the most.

-o-

It's not much longer before they get to go home. Billy is continuing to improve, regaining his color and increasing his stamina. The doctors seem reluctant to approve a trans-Atlantic flight, but Billy is so charming and the rest of the ODS is pretty damn convincing. Still, they have to arrange a military flight with medical provisions, and while Billy insists it's overkill, Fay sees how taxing the trip is for him. He's transferred by ambulance to Georgetown and the ODS is finally home.

Fay is finally home.

After seeing Billy at the hospital, she goes home alone. In her apartment, things feel strangely unfamiliar to her. It's her home, these are her things, but something's different.

She's different.

When she goes to sleep that night, she wonders if it's for better or for worse.

Or maybe for both.

-o-

At work the next day, she gets in early and finishes her report. By the time Higgins is in his office, it's already on his desk. Giving it a cursory glance, he turns curious eyes up at her. "I was beginning to wonder if you and the ODS had defected," he muses, and the joke is light but pointed all the same.

"We were waiting for Operative Collins to be well enough to travel," she reports.

Higgins nods, almost cautiously. "Yes, yes," he says. "That's what Dorset has been telling me."

"He's been checked into-"

"Georgetown," Higgins says for her. "I've already had a chat with his doctor."

"So you understand then," Fay presumes.

It's not so much that Higgins understands as much as it is that he knows. His eyes are narrowed just slightly, a muted skepticism as he looks her over. "And the mission was a success?" he asks.

"You've talked to Operative Dorset-"

"But I'm asking you," he says.

Fay swallows uncomfortably. It's not the first time Higgins has wheedled her for information about the ODS that the team might otherwise choose not to share. It's always made her uncomfortable before but this time she's not protecting herself, she's protecting them. From what, she's not entirely sure. The ODS has never cared about its reputation and it's never been concerned with Higgins' overt approval, which is why Fay has never been too worried about them. But the thing is, they deserve better around here.

"It's all in the file," Fay reports dutifully, nodding her head. "Our initial contact went as planned and the plan developed accordingly. Operative Collins endured his injury away from the action and thanks to the efforts of the ODS, the mission was not disrupted and our cover was maintained." She hesitates just slightly. "You were right to send me, sir."

"Yes, Operative Dorset explained how valuable your connection was in the field," he comments, perusing the file with fresh interest. He looks up. "And he was quite keen on singing your praises. Sounds like you may have the heart of a field operative after all, Ms. Carson."

It's all Fay can do to not balk outright. Still, she manages to say, "Thank you, sir. But I think I'm better suited to office work."

Higgins inclines his head. "Suit yourself," he says. "But you have also proven yourself to be a valuable asset in regards to the ODS. That's not something I'll soon forget next time I need to find some sort of leash for those misfits."

Fay just smiles. Because Higgins is half right-her connection with the ODS is stronger than ever-but he's also half wrong. Because she could no more sell them out than they could leave her to fend for herself. Some bonds are forged under pressure, some relationships are based on nothing more than a desire to get out of the cold, but that doesn't change how strong they are.

Nothing changes that.

Fay keeps her smile, proper and polished, and nods again. "Yes, sir," she says. "Anything to get the job done."

To that, Higgins has no reply and when Fay goes back to her office, her smile just keeps growing.

-o-

Fay thinks about going by Michael's office, though she's not sure why. It doesn't matter, in the end, because when she gets back to her own office, Michael is already there, leaned against her desk and looking through her calendar absently.

It's not an uncommon scene. He was waiting for her before they went on the mission, and she suspects he'll be waiting her before the next one, too. In the past, she might quip about how it's not his place to be in here, how it's certainly not his place to look through her things, but when his eyes meet hers, somehow, this time, she has to what she does know-more than anything-is that a good man isn't necessarily so easy to define. Some people can look and talk the part, but underneath, they're only in it for themselves. Other people-people like the men in the ODS-can defy the stereotype, can lie and hurt and frustrated, but ultimately they're the ones who will always do what's right, even at their own sacrifice and perils.

Walking in, she skirts around the desk, eyeing him guardedly. "If you're worried about what I said to Higgins-"

Michael frowns. "Why would I be worried about that?"

She eases into her seat, shrugging. "Well, you usually have some kind of motive to come down here."

He keeps his expression impassive, but there's more than a flash of emotion in his eyes. "It's just weird not seeing you every day," he comments.

"We've been divorced for years," she reminds him.

"But the mission-"

"Was the mission," Fay concludes. "It doesn't change everything that's happened between us."

Michael is watching her carefully and Fay works to retain her composure. She's sure he can see it on her face, see it in her eyes; it doesn't change everything, but it does change something, even if neither of them is sure what.

Instead, Michael nods. "Fair enough," he says. "I just wanted to make sure you were settled back into work and all after our foray into the field."

Fay gestures around her. "Everything is back to normal," she says. She hesitates before she adds, "Any new word on how long it'll be before Billy's cleared to come back to work?"

"With Billy's persuasive skills, my guess is sooner than the doctors would like," Michael says.

Fay laughs a little. "Just make sure it's not too soon," she says. "He's been through a lot."

"So have you," Michael says.

Fay refused to let herself blush. Instead, she keeps her head high. "You know what I mean."

Michael holds her gaze before nodding. "Yeah," he agrees. "I do."

There's a silence and it's not quite awkward, but Fay still doesn't know what to say. She's not sure what she wants to say. Their apologies and their regrets don't change what happened, and she's not even sure it'll change what comes next. More than that, she's not sure there's anything she has to say, as if somehow she and Michael could finally stand eye to eye and understand each other.

Pushing away from the desk, Michael rubs his hands together. "Well, we're all still going to be taking turns visiting Billy," he says. "So I'm sure he'll love it if you stop by."

"Of course," she says. "I might be able to swing over on my lunch hour."

Michael continues nodding. "Just don't let him talk you into smuggling him in any food," he says. "Billy can be quite the con."

Fay knows this first hand. She smiles. "I think I can handle myself."

Michael looks thoughtful. "Yeah," he says. "I guess you can."

He moves to leave, and Fay suddenly has to stop him. "I appreciate the concern, though," she adds, and it feels hasty and uncertain.

When Michael turns back around, his smile is genuine. "Anytime," he says.

And Fay nods as he heads off again. She watches him as he slips into the hallway, until he's around the corner and she can't see him anymore.

She stares after the empty hallway for a moment and tries to make sense of it. Tries to make sense of what she knows now and what she knew then. Tries to make sense of the ODS risking their lives for her, Billy in the hospital at her expense, Michael stopping by her office and how it actually made her smile.

It actually makes her smile.

It's a strange fact, and one that she's surprisingly not torn about. She's not sure about where she and Michael stand at the moment, but it's not as important as she might have thought. She trusts him to do the right thing and she trusts that he's doing what he's supposed to do.

How she fits into that, she's not sure.

But she's willing to wait to find out.

After all, sometimes all she can do is focus on the job and do what it takes to just get it done. Trust that it's right, trust that she can do it. No matter what.

She continues smiling to herself as she gets back to work. No matter what.


End file.
